Grief's Possession
by Hanyou-demoness
Summary: On a hunt that hits a little too close to home for Sam, Dean may be forced to leave a job undone, or risk losing his brother to the same demon that has been killing grieving lovers.ON HIATUS, will be back soon!
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello all those who decided to give this story a try!**_

_I've decided to set it Canada, no real problem, I just live here and I'm less likely to get flamed for saying New York is an hour drive from San Francisco this way. If it's a problem, just substitute in what ever places you want, its not a big factor here. _

_I absolutely love this new show, the only decent one with all the good elements, horror, drama, excellent characterization, and as we all agree, well female fans anyway, HOTTIES._

_I don't own any recognizable elements of the show, yadaha, don't sue me, not worth it…_

_Thanks for Reading!_

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_**Grief's Possession**_

_**Chapter One: Sleepless Nights, Dreaming Frights **_

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Cascading tears licked down the cool pallor of a sorrow-lined face. A mirror image of pain hungered eyes glinted in the polished blade held knifepoint inwards. Self-recriminations filled the brown orbs, overflowed, streaming down of a tight set jaw. Muscles shook with throbbing intensity, in an effort to hold the weapon still against the pressures forcing the only relief away. The young wielder glanced over to the offending picture and mumbled softly a prayer, more the intensity of mantra. "It is of my will to join, please wait for me." 

Unheard came the scream of agony and denial from out the lips of a witness as the tip sheathed inside the twisting body. One voice streamed above the crowd lifted by circumstance and released control, "I can't, no!"

Her scream resonated through the night.

* * *

The shrill noise pierced the tight web of dreams wrapped around the head of Sam Winchester popped as if he'd been stabbed. Inhaling sharply he sat stiffly, willing to pull himself out of the grips of terror, and wait for the new wave of pain to ebb. Sam relaxed unconsciously clenched fists and leaned back against the door of the 67 Impala. Shaking slightly he sorrowfully the illusive sleep to come back to him. It was not easy; it flickered on the edge of his awareness like a distant memory. 

The deep unawareness that he craved deeply mentally and physically ran ahead of his reach. The few moments of unconsciousness he could grab were either so bodily exhausting he woke up feeling worse than when he laid down to sleep, or the other times, were, were the one thing that had him dashing away like a coward, making him fear to close his eyes. The only thing Sam ever saw was her, its all he could ever dream about. Her once soft eyes, so perverse with fear and death, her accusatory stare, her blood spilling down her satin gown, dripping onto his hands. It killed him to watch. His soul burned along with her body, could not look away, for it was the last way he would ever see her. That fateful night Sam still remembered the strong arms of his brother forcing him, no keeping him from joining her.

The quiet voice of his brother instinctively jerked Sam out of his reverie, to listen to Dean's confident speech, "Of course. Leave the driver to play Miss. Secretary." The shorter Winchester picked up the on ringing cell phone, and right before he answered, Sam must have imagined Dean's quiet voice mumble, "Glad you're finally sleeping, Sammy."

That last statement shot a pang of guilt, through his soul, how he had tormented all that he loved, Jess was dead by his negligence, he had driven his father away, and now he had his older brother fearful for his sanity. All those thoughts he hoped did not reflect on his relaxed face and further agonize Dean. Rising out of his depression, his tuned to listen to Dean's half of whatever conversation was playing.

"Uh, hello, what can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry, man, to have to deal with two deaths like that…"

"Yes, I sure that we can check that out for you, but have you considered that maybe she was just acting out of grief for him-"

"Sure thing, yah we're in. Yah, there is my brother Sam as well. Unn, we're just about into Great Falls, Montana, yeh, I'll check out a map, thinking maybe eight hours of driving. We'll be there, okay meet you in Calgary, around seven. I'll phone you from the hotel we will check into."

"Payment? I, we don't usually charge, if you insist. Yes, of course its Canadian, thanks just sit tight until we get there…"

Hearing the quiet beep of the 'end' button of the small phone, and the bounce of the silver device hitting a weapons bag in the back seat he decided to forgo his acting job in interest of their new case. Sam shifted to sit up and faced his brother, "Uh, we are heading to Canada?" Wiping away groggy eyes, he looked into his brother's surprised features, "Don't worry bro, you didn't wake me up."

A sardonic eyebrow raised, "Hey, I don't worry, I just think that you've been lacking a little of everything, hey sleep, food, a life! I know that you've been happy drowning in self pity." Dean's cocky voice lost a little of its drive, and he sighed, "Sorry man, that was a low blow, but seriously, you need to not feel the need to play the Grim Reaper so intently. You'd think that we would get enough of that on the job."

Sam faked a smirk for the sake of Dean and stuttered out, "Jess, uh, I mean we have had no sign of dad in over, well since we heard that damn phone message." Sam moved to look out to the lightening scenery window. His reflection glimmered faintly, a sallow face, with black bags under glazed eyes. He felt Dean's hand on his knee. Sam's neck rotated to glance over his shoulder at the troubled façade of his older brother.

"Sammy, we are going to take a break and check into a hotel to get a couple hours sleep before we hit the road again. Yeh, and maybe you could drive partway there, so I could catch some shuteye. I, you, think I really need to get some sleep, and you need to do something besides brood." Dean chuckled, "That and you're a better navigator than me, all your college education should be funneled into something useful, like finding the shortest route up into Canada."

"Shall this be a legal route, or smuggle ourselves in?" Sam allowed himself an exhausted smirk, more a Dean's affronted expression that melted into a chuckling laugh.

"Oh, I think we'll stick with legal, last time I was up in the Great North of the Krazy Kunucks, I didn't do anything illegal I could get arrested for," after seeing Sam's incredulous face, Dean continued on, more truthfully, "Well without any inventive and motivated detective work." Dean sighed, "Another ten minutes and you start looking for a hotel, anywhere with a vacancy, maybe a bar, last chance to buy some decent beer."

"Krazy Kunucks?" Sam said at last after they drove into a Best Western with a half burned out vacancy sign.

"A Canadian hockey team. Had a fling once with a girl whose father died of a heart attack in front of a game where they lost badly. Mostly that job was a short little exorcism. He came back as the phantom caused weird accidents and tripped referees; it wasn't all that difficult to deal with. The ultimate passionate sport fan's here-after, hey Sam?"

Dean opened the black door and stepped outside gingerly, stamping feeling back into his legs. Sam swung out and grabbed the wallets of their newest credit card scams, cousins Jason and Andrew Langston. Stumbling out of the four-door he lost his balance and made a wide grab for the door accidentally slamming it shut. Earning a reproach from his older brother he shook his head to clear the fog he thought solemnly in his head, _I'm sure the only real relationship Dean his ever had, is with that 67 Chevy Impala._

Walking through the automatic doors they were greeted with a monotonic, "Hello, what its it that you require here today, sirs?" Sam strode up to the suited man at the desk, painfully aware of the man's own suit and tie, with his own broken in jeans and a hoodie in desperate need of a wash. They were a little bit underdressed for the regular clientele, and therefore unsaid troublemakers.

Suppressing a heavy yawn and lingering dizziness, Sam answered before Dean could step in and insult the guy, or do something else that inane that late at night, or he guessed that early in the morning. "Ah do you have any two bed rooms? Nothing fancy, just a shower." The phony grin plastered to his face earned a sneer from the hotel attendant.

"We have only a one bed room available? Is that suitable?" The disapproving glare mixed with fake hospitality was a little too much to deal with, so they nodded their heads, and paid for the room as quickly as they could.

After Sam had passed one of the little white key cards off to Dean they pulled themselves up the stairs carrying one duffle bag between them. Resigning to walk up four flights of stair was due to five minutes of being scrutinized by all the early risers trickling out of the lounge; they had given up on waiting for the elevator. Thudding heavily on ornate steps, Sam paused dizzily at the top of stairs watching the ordinate wallpaper spin lazily around him. Reaching out to grab the rail like a drunken man he felt dimly aware of his knees buckling.

"Damn it!" Dean's lunge after his arm hauled him back to the top, and away from the long fall over by the wall. He felt violently sick, as his brother threw an arm under his shoulders and dragged him to their room ignoring viciously the irritated and patronizing glances of the other people in the hall. Glowering at the door of room 13B he finally got the lock to open and assisted his brother on the bed. Sam dropped roughly there and rolled back trying to summon the equilibrium to stand up.

Running to get Sam a cool cup of water, Dean gazed over his shoulder took his too pale younger brother. "Sam lay down and rest or I'll tie you there. I think I could take you right now." Dean ignored his brother's call of defiance as he waited for the water to turn cold. Striding shakily back into his younger brother's view, he tried donned his air of indifferent coolness. "Want to fill me in on how long you've been dangerously ill."

Sam's eyes opened a searched the room for an answer, "I'm fine."

"Oh bullshit Sam! You nearly passed out at the top of those stairs, like hell fine. What if we would have been on a case? What then, 'Sorry Dean, those innocents died because I can't take care of myself.' What if it was you got hurt, or me? How am I supposed to trust you if you can't tell that you've been running yourself into the ground?" The underlying hurt in Dean's wide eyes stung at him. "Sam, I'll sleep on the floor, take the bed, you need to rest, apparently. We'll get up to the case when you're feeling better."

"Jesus, Sam, don't do that to me again. Not for a little while at least, please." Dean pulled a pillow out of the closet. He stopped and turned around to face Sam and waved his hand dramatically into the heavens, "That was just a chick flick moment, yep, need a beer."

Sam rolled under the covers; his runners still on, and tried in vain to achieve true rest. The sun's light and chipper crickets coupled with Dean's inexhaustible impromptu snoring certainly killed any delusions of real rest. Shifting back and forth angrily first at himself for not knowing better, than at Dean for blowing things way out of proportion, he took a sip of the water his brother had provided. Clamping shut his blurry brown eyes; he gasped in a deep breath and achieved a lightened state of sleep.

Descending into a darkened nightmare with sheer panic, and peculiarly amount of eagerness, Sam opened his mind's eyes to the dark room of his apartment room back at Stanford. Jess stood their arms opens her eyes inviting, and for once a happy visage. No blood or violence marked her body, her satin night clothes were to please him. She waved to him and beckoned him closer. Neither his terror nor excitement leveled, the gloomy air only felt more constraining. Her smile never broken into words but he heard her voice in his head, "Is it of your will to join, beg for me, I'll be waiting…" Her face turned deadly and she looked down at Sam's hands. Looking down, he realized he held Dean's Bowie knife towards his heart. He heard himself cry, "No, I can't-"

* * *

"Sam! Come on man, wake up! Just a damn dream, come buddy." Dean's broken and frantic speech sped him out of the enclosed terror, and he open his eyes, to see Dean sitting on the bed with him, shaking him sharply. Sam's confused eyes locked with his brother. Dean turned a bright shade of red, and back off stammering, "Yah you started screaming like a real banshee, so I had to shut you before we got kicked out. I think that manager had it in for us." 

Dean walked into the bathroom and called over a running tap, "Uh, you feeling any better, cause if not you could probably get another hour to relax in before hit the road and we'll probably make it if we speed all up through Canada." Dean returned into sight carrying a cup of water in a coffee mug.

"Uh, thanks for the pity, but really feeling whole lot better, I don't need to be baby sat. Fine, really." Sam swung his legs over the edge and rolled his eyes on Dean's take of 'an affronted Florence Nightingale'. "So what time is it boss?" Standing up too fast had him sitting back on the bed, head swimming.

"Fine, frantic, insure, neurotic, emotional, but otherwise cool, right Sammy." Dean stood superiorly over Sam who was feverishly rubbing the pressure points on head.

"Just what time is it, Deanna?" A sharp glare interchanged between the pair before Sam dropped eyes so take a drink of Dean's water.

"It's 10:30, maybe we should find some food to tide us over, grab something at the Tim Hortons across the way. And you just had your driving privileges revoked, Samantha." Dean chuckled and stretched, "Well lets get going, see if we can think of an inventive alibi if the border guards decide to do a full car search and discovers are little unlicensed arsenal."

Walking out the front of the hotel, refreshed, well at least showered, they snickered at the managers rude appraisal of them behind their backs as the walked out. "So we hittheir long enough to sober up before we had to return to our wives, heh. Can't ever picture us married." Realizing Sam wasn't chuckling alongside him, Dean looked over his shoulder and cringed. Sam had stopped and was looking at his shoes with clenched fists, retaking the haunted he had lost after he woke up. "Shit, that was stupid of me, uh, you okay?"

"Just peachy…" Sam 'sarcastic' monotone spoke louder than the grieving man intended. Anyone else, maybe even their father would overlook the broken undercurrents of his face. But not Dean, he understood what his brother saw in the ground, what angered him and could push him on when everything else fell away. It was the same look his father had, when something even remotely reminded him of his wife's tragic death.

Dean, stopped and stood still, waiting for his brother to pas him to the car and get in, again slamming the door. Dean cringed away from the sound, and set down the lecture threatening to tip over his tongue, he could wait until Sam was doing better.

Pulling out of the drive through with a box of twelve donuts, in the back for lunch, a sandwich with a hot chocolate for Dean, and two cups of coffee for Sam. Dean glared at his brother as he put the first one back in three minutes, barely to the outskirts of town.

"What?" Sam rolled his eyes and gentle tossed the empty cup over his shoulder into the back seat.

Dean's head whipped around to watch the Styrofoam fall and smacked Sam upside the head, "What did my car ever do to you? Do you know how much money it costs to get this girl shampooed by someone who isn't going to ask about the forgotten one or two silver bullets. That cup better have been drained dry."

"It was, don't worry. Watch the road. Dean, car, CAR!" Stopping incredibly short, Dean, smacked Sam again. Not even bothering to ask his brother what the deal was, he just resigned to pull a maple glazed apple fritter out of the box.

A snort of acceptance came from the driver's side, "You can't sleep for an hour with out screaming, you drink pure caffeine, and all you eat is sugar straight up with a good dose of vengeful paranormal activity, and you wonder why you crashing, man. Give me your second cup, I need far more than you do right now, and besides, the only way your going to pass that coffee is if I have to stop too."

Offering over the brown cup to the open waiting hand, Sam smirked as Dean took slow sip. "Black, you were going to drink two black coffees in I'm guessing ten minutes, and try and get some sleep, what are you fifteen?"

"Dean, mother-henning really isn't your gig, how about you just tell me about this case that might just be a dud." Sam shifted away and rubbed his neck, he was going to fall asleep if he couldn't get that coffee back, he need to be sharp and to actually be helpful or Dean will take every opportunity to develop his own brand of PMS.

"Well, it's not really the kind of circumstances to bring about a vengeful ghost. This girl's fiancée dies, some car accident, other driver was stoned, and 13 days later they find her impaled on a knife. The police think it was suicide, but the knife has her dead boyfriend's fingerprints all over it, with some one else's they can't identify. The girl was obviously really depressed, but Christian parents had always thought that she would never stoop to that level." Dean took a longer sip of the coffee and swallowed grimacing, "Here have this back, and I'll stick with mine."

Sam took back the cup and wiped off the rim before taking a drink and asking Dean, "Did anyone witness the murder?"

"Her younger brother, uh sixteen, ran into the room right after she was said to have done it and saw her fall, dead before she even hit the ground. That was all the details they offered me, we'll talk more when we get there." Dean looked uncomfortably over at Sam, searching for any hint of this case impressing on Sam, of Jess's death.

"Its weird, I wonder why they would even think that there was some sort paranormal issues involved. I wonder if they thought she was channeling him before she took her life, or if the brother saw something weird as the sister died." Sam detached the grieving part of his body to fester later when he could afford to rest. "You sure this isn't just a waste of gas and time? I mean, it's pretty out of are way to have to go up through the border and risk having some random car search."

"No, I don't know why, but I think we should go and check it out." Dean rifled through the tape case looking for something, after through a couple loose crosses into the backseat, he pulled out _Foreigner / Records. _"Besides, their offering real money, money, you know what we are seriously lacking. It will feel good to actually pay in cash, or you know have change to get something out a vending machine, you know be like the rest of the population."

"So, either you're psychic, the only verified medium we ever come across, or you're last set of credit cards from what ever bank you are ripping off next haven't come yet." Sam had to shout the last part competing with the 70's band screaming out 'Urgent'. "Can't you turn that off, you're the one who told me to sleep."

"Sammy boy, you won't sleep, and there is no reason for me to suffer as well, besides, we have had this conversation and shotgun shuts his cake hole." Dean settled into the driving role and gradually, and painfully they made it into and through the border, with out any trouble. "That was just our good luck for the next, uh year."

Several hours later, and twenty motels, they finally checked into a decent sized room. Sam immediately lay across his bed, the further one from the door, so he wasn't the first line of defense. Reaching over for the phone he checked the clients' number with Dean and lifted the receiver off. After waiting what seemed a minute the line picked up and a hoarse male voice answered with the cracking noise of an exasperated teenager. "If it's the ghost hunters, you can stay the hell away from here. The last thing we need right now is a bunch charlatan bullshitters coming to profit off my beloved sister's death." With that the line clicked off.

"Well that was kind of short, you dial a wrong number or something?" Dean raised one of eyebrows Sam reiterated the threat, done to the tone. "Yes, we're finally going to get paid for exercising a vengeful ghost, or at least telling them it was natural death, and one of the key witness has resentful threat leveled at us." Dean collapsed into a green recliner and flicked on the television.

Sam lay against the bed and massaged aching temples, "Dean, I almost wish now that we had gotten stopped at the border now."

"Oh, quit whining, I'll phone back in a few minutes, hey they have really cheap room service!" Dean smiled and relaxed and continued thumbing through the hotel phone book. "Try to get some sleep, I'll talk to them alone tonight, you look half dead as it is, we want to inspire confidence. If there isn't some thing weird going on, I'll talk to them myself and quiet them down, assure them she wasn't bewitched or whatever."

"Dean, do you think that's going to reassure them." Sam turned his insightfuldark eyes to his older brother.

Dean paused and looked down, "No, no its not, in fact its probably worse. They have a right to know."

After a quick phone call to the Lewisons, and a very apologetic sounding mother, Dean hung up the phone and pulled on his boots, and started to walk out the door waving his brother down. "Shut up and sleep, I can handle this part on my own. Really, if there's some weird shit going on, you'll be the first I'll call."

Dean looked back at his brother sitting with a cocked head, "I'm not being nice, I just think that you look like shit, and try and relax before you give yourself heart failure."

"Good bye, Mother…" Sam's trailing words caught Dean off guard, and made him trip.

Dean turned around and flipped him off from the hallway, sending Sam into choking fit. Dean resumed his stride to the exit and walked right into some older woman's rancorous glare of being caught using obscene gestures in front of her darling children. Smiling graciously Dean sauntered off down the hallway and saw the recently established 'out of order' sign on the elevator. "Well, life can only go down from here…"

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_Hey if you are still with me, why don't you think about dropping a review! _

_No, it's not a lot of action, but that's all to come. (Maniacal laughter in background)_

_Update probably next Tuesday, but remember, life sucks… I'll really try hard, especially if I get lots of reviews…_

_If there are lots of errors, I spent forever checking so I'm hoping not, but **if anyone would offer to beta, give me a shout!**_

_And tonight's episode was bloody awesome; get that bloody, awe never mind…)_

_(this is a reposted version with a few corrections)_

_**Thanks and drop a line!**_


	2. Danger in Dreams

_So it's Tuesday. Like I promised, how could I not update after all of those reviews?_

_**Guys I am so touched by all of you support**, and I hope that you continue to love the intrigue and the character interactions of my work. I fixed a few mistakes that were pointed out to me in the first chapter; I hope I did a better job on this one. I got my crazy smart sister to check this one out for me. It's a bit shorter, only by a few hundred words, but it just seemed a good place to end the chapter._

_I am so happy with all of your support that I hope you will continue to give. _

_

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_**Grief's Possession**_

_**Chapter Two: Danger of Dreams** _

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The illuminating screen cast a pale light across a darkened room. The sore eyes of the younger Winchester stared on, blinking lazily, as his cold hands pounded briskly on the darkened keys of his laptop. The bright light and scrolling pixels did nothing for the increasing ache in his head and back. The lights remained off after Dean leftThe dark shadows had never inspired fear in his heart and was never confining, just an empty place with out warm and light.

Suppressing long yawn, he desperately took a hearty drink of the black coffee the nice room service woman had brought. Dean would have been thrilled to answer the door, and more, but Sam had settled to just thank the girl, wistfully watching her as she walked away down the hall. Her blonde hair stood out in the bright lights of the fixtures. Vowing to actually find useful information before Dean called, 'to wake him up with news', he downed the cup, and poured himself out another from the pot.

The local newspaper, 'borrowed' after a quick stroll through the lounge, had revealed the young woman's obituary and a sale at Hunting Outfitters. Karin Lewison was a perfect student, had excelled at volleyball, and had been engaged to her late devoted boyfriend. Apparently all loved her. After looking at the list of grieving family members, Sam had no doubt that she would have had any lack of a support system after her boyfriend's death.

The details of Mark Trochie's death were sketchier and more vague, at best. He was interred at Silverstone Cemetery, wherever that was, and the road that had been described as the seen of the accident was marked as 'a small back road east of Calgary'. There was not a picture of either of them though, not even on their previous high school's page. Sam was fervently wishing Dean was having better luck with the family. Recalling the vehemence of the phone conversation with the younger brother, he was happy to have let Dean go deal alone – however horrible that sounded–.

Sam saved the information onto a hastily created Word file and closed the laptop. He glanced at the phonewilling it to ring and end the boredom of being here alone. One hand reached to pull out the Internet cord out of the wall, and the other went back to the blue coffee mug. Sam stood up unsteadily to walk to the bathroom to have a shower when shaking hand splashed burning coffee onto his only clean shirt. His other hand moved to steady the cup and he put it down. "Hm… Dean's right, figure that, I should get some sleep…" Sam threw off the stained shirt, and pulled out of his pants, and crawled under the frigid comforter and tried to relax his sore neck.

Eyes focused intently on the ceiling above his head. The white specs formed into interesting shapes as his mind wandered. The noise rising off the streets penetrated his inattentive musings. Bellowing sirens drove the cynic in him to the surface; he wondered what trouble Dean was into now. The bed was getting increasingly warmer; the stickiness of the sheets were feeling more irritating. Getting up once to turn on the air conditioner turned out to be a step down. The endless drone of the window mounted unit pressed on through the night. Especially the sounds of who Sam was sure was getting lucky in the next room down did nothing to aid his tired and blackening mood.

Sam realized vaguely that he must have been dreaming when he looked up and saw Jessica standing that the end of his bed smiling at him. Her adoring gaze caught Sam's eyes, and something other love than flickered behind blue eyes. The voice that seemed to be Jess's echoed in his head, "Come join me, beg and be complete."

The blade appeared in Sam's hand. When the small etchings on the hilt glinted, his dark eyes were drawn to it. A strange noise echoed in the back ground eerily. It seemed out of place, so Sam pushed it out of his unconsciousness.

The phone rang on.

On the other end of the line, Dean swore steadily, his voice increasing in volume. "Sam, pick up the phone, Sam, Sam…" With as much forged enthusiasm as he could muster, he walked back in the front door of the white bi-level home on the outer fringes of the city. Margaret Lewison's scarcely composed façade set a somber tone. When Dean first walked through the threshold of their family he was unsettled by the calm atmosphere of their house. The gravity of the situation became apparent when he realized these people had assumed that she was possessed for all the wrong reasons, and that they were right.

After Mark's death, their daughter had chosen to become reclusive and barely said two words to anyone, and they never saw her cry. Dean said as little as he could about the oddness of her behavior, mostly due to the fact it reminded him greatly of two other people he knew quite well. Her younger brother was her only confidant; he said that she dreamed of him coming to her, telling her to join him in the afterlife. Those dreams sparked Dean's interest. A quick trip up into her bedroom proved to Dean the sorrow of her parents. The room had become a shrine.

Pictures of her sat on every available space, her countenance always smiling. Sometimes she was shown playing sports, other times accepting awards. She always had her boyfriend somewhere underfoot. Dean shuddered and looked around the room, half expecting their ghosts to come at him. The happy faces in the pictures followed him around the room. The older woman and Mr. Lewison hovered at the door anxiously. Dean pulled out the EMF reader and started to scan in about the room. Nothing picked up, except one tear stained picture of the couple that was crammed in a worn playbook of _Romeo and Juliet_.

Receiving permission to take them back to his brother to analyze, Dean declared that he was done, and that they'd both be back the next afternoon with a couple cleansing spells to ensure that their ghosts moved on. Dean looked guiltily back at Margaret as she made the sign of the cross across her chest as she left the room. He had no proof that their tortured souls lingered in this plane, or even if it was the boyfriend that drove her to commit suicide. All he could tell them was that there were some strange readings he got off the book and the worn picture inside.

He relaxed into the seat of Impala and marked the biting coolness of the leather seats. Taking a quick glance at the watch around his wrist, he cringed at the time. 1:13. Pulling out of the drive off their next-door neighbor, Dean managed not to get killed in his trip back across the city to the hotel. After nearly falling asleep while stopped a red light, Dean finally pulled into the hotel's parking lot and ended up parking in the back corner by an alley. It was the only available spot.

Stumbling out of the car, he turned and locked the door. He stumbled to foyer of the hotel, barely being able to place one foot in front of the other and acquired the added embarrassment of having to ask the cute blonde at the registry what room he was in. Despite all the charisma he lofted onto her, she still got the impression he had come from some party and was just a charming drunk. Dean took little offence to her innocent brush offs, he did look like he was hammered and had the after effects pounding full away at the little coherency he had left.

Returning the glare of the hotel attendant working on the elevator, Dean pulled his jacket closer to himself in the cool night air. He trudged towards the emergency stairs, his mind starting to slip into his own thoughts. The trudge up six flights had him breathing heavily. Smiling to himself as a beautiful brunette slipped out of the room next to theirs, checking him out on her way down the hall, he fumbled for the key shoved in his back pocket. After going through various fabricated identities, Dean found the card and pushed his way through the heavy door.

The rumpled bed barely revealed a human-like shape lying asleep. Dean searched in the dark at the foot of his bed for the duffel bag with his clothes. He declared silently to remind his brother in the morning to be more on his guard while alone, and to answer the phone. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts to change into after a shower and stepped quietly back across the creaking boards. Yawning profusely, he tried to head into the bathroom to get clean, though something appeared to be blocking the white painted entryway. When he discovered the reason the door wouldn't open, he swore. There was body in front of it.

"Sam, what are you doing in there, get out of the way." Dean peered through the crack he had managed to shove open and saw Sam's reflection in the mirror. His younger brother lay on the floor, his head and neck resting at an angle against the door. He looked incredibly pale, and there was a small pool of blood dripping from his right temple. Dean tried open the door without dropping his brother unto the ground, but the sickening sound of his head hitting the tile made Dean wince. There was a small mark blood on a sharp corner of the sink where he guessed Sam tripped and hit his head.

Dean managed to squeeze in the door, and reached to stem the bleeding on Sam's head. "What do I do with you, Sammy?" Pulling open an eyelid, he shown a flashlight into the exposed pupil. It reacted, slowly. Dean pulled Sam slowly out of the corner and checked to make sure he was breathing. Short pants greeted Dean's ears as he debated whether or not to risk moving him to his bed.

A low moan offered his answer when Sam's eyes fluttered open. Unfocused eyes caught Dean's face. "Dean…wh-what the hell am I doing here?" He pushed himself up, and looking startled, pulled a long knife out from underneath himself. "What's going on?"

"Sam, you look like you just tried to fight a, well something large that just kicked your ass. What were you doing?" Dean suppressed the fear, and tried pulling his brother up. Sam stood, rocking badly, and suddenly turned and puked into the toilet. "Sammy, come on, you need to relax. Let's sit down and I'll see if I need to stitch you up."

Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and hooked his closer arm around Sam's waist. Stumbling slowly to the green lazy boy in the corner of the room, Dean walked his brother to large supporting chair. Sam eased into it, dropping limply against the cushions. Cradling his head in his hands look winced as Dean flicked on their lights. Dean returned with their random assembly of bandages, gauze and sterile needles and thread. Taking a glass of clean water and a facecloth from the bathroom, he tried to gently clear away the blood that stuck to Sam's face and temple. "Sam, do you remember what happened?"

"Uh, I think I think it was a nightmare…" Sam looked perturbed. His wandering eyes fixed on a bright portrait on the other side of the room. Dean bandaged the side of his head.

Dean shook his head, trying to quell rising worry, "Must have been some nightmare." Sam shut his eyes and Dean felt his brother go limp.

"Hate to break it to you, but you remember the deal. You're pretty concussed so you can't sleep right now. Come on, where's that insomnia when you need it?" Dean pushed a smile on to his face as Sam's angry eyes locked with his.

"Jessica…she said that I should sleep…with her." Dean coughed, hiding a rising amusement, and ran a finger back and forth in front of Sam's eyes to see if he was tracking. He was, barely. "But that couldn't have been her. She said her goodbye. I saw her. It wasn't her, I knew so I went into the light. She would never ask that of me. Then I felt it push me…." Sam trailed off and his eyelids dropped again.

"Sam!" Dean softly slapped his face, "Sammy, who pushed you? Is that how you hit your head? Sam!"

Dark eyes opened again, glazed and weary, "It's just a dream, just like the other. Just like Jess' death."

Dean shook his head. Sam was making as much sense as he did when he was trying to read Latin protection rites after downing a six-pack. "Sam, I've got an idea… Do you know how to play Geography? Come on, college boy. It's my favorite game of intellect."

"Dean," Sam said in a moment of clarity, "it's the only game of intellect you can play. I've beaten you at everything else since I could talk."

"You have not! I remember a certain game of I Spy in 1998." Dean smiled.

"Dean, when you ask later what I was talking about, before, I won't answer. Please just trust me to judge." Sam closed his eyes, and Dean couldn't wake him. All night Dean sat at his brother's side wondering what the strange words Sam had uttered, wondering what they meant, and knowing that his brother would never tell him. Sam would carry whatever burden he held on his own. Even if it killed him. Dean's mind wandered back to the scene in the bathroom realizing the knife Sam had held briefly was still on the floor. Leaving his brother to rest in unconsciousness alone he went to collect it before they forgot and some maid found it and called the police.

Dean pushed open the door and saw the blood marks smeared all over the floor, and across the countertops. "Going to have to clean that up now too." Dean picked up the knife that had dropped from Sam's hand in mystification. It had a lengthy curved blade with small etchings in the leather wrapped hilt. He had never seen it before, and Sam didn't own anything like it. "Where'd this come from?"

He placed the blade in his own duffle bag after he used the towels to soak up the evidence of Sam's fall and threw them into a garbage bag shoved into one of the backpacks pockets. He glanced around the now clean bathroom and smirked, "I've been nice to my brother once, and I'm already reduced to becoming Molly Maid."

A call from the main room had Dean out of the cramped bathroom and rushing to his brother's side. "Dean, uh, could you come here and tell which of the dancing furniture smashed into my head." Sam reclined against the headboard with his head bobbing erratically in an effort to suppress the pressing feeling of vertigo.

"You mean that you don't remember what happened." Dean's eyebrows rose. "I do one nice thing for you, and you don't even pretend to admit it happened. Well Sammy boy, you tripped in the bathroom, and tried to bleed out, from your head. I managed to wake you up and you started spouting crap about a Jessica who wasn't Jessica that you didn't want to sleep with. Oh yah and it was all a crazy dream just like those nightmares you've having."

Sam closed his eyes again, and opened them slowly, shocked. "Dean, that's all I said. Nothing else, at all." Sam looked up from his hands to catch Dean's negative nod. "I feel like a demon is forcing its way between the bones of my skull. I'm not in the mood for games."

Dean looked back at his brother in a mixture of surprise, and insult, "Well you snarled one thing about me sucking at Geography, but that was about it."

"Dean, what did you learn at the Lewison's last night? I found some minor details on the net, and a newspaper." Sam weakly brushed of Dean's icy tone and attempted to focus at their current hunt.

"Sam, nice try, but you will tell what is going on in that little screwed up head of yours. I sat beside you all night while you cried and whimpered in your sleep for Jessica, Mom, even Dad and me, cause I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

"Dean, we need to decide what we're going to do here. I mean we came up here to assure a couple of people that their daughter took her life of her own power, and we are getting paid for it." Sam swallowed and looked away from his brother to stare straight ahead. The next words came out as a strangle. "I'll admit it; I am not exactly a hundred percent. Getting the only woman that you ever loved ripped away from you by an inhuman beast will do that to you." Sam took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eyes, "But what happened here last night was weird. I thought I was asleep, now I don't know what was going on. I think that we should get our money and get out."

"Sam, as much as I think I should agree with you, something screwy is happening here, _and_ at the nice people's house, who are _paying_ us to deal with their ghosts. There was definitely something paranormal happening there. I got an energy signature off of a picture and a book." Dean pulled the knife that Sam found last night out and passed it over to his brother. "And can you explain what the hell this is, and why you magically pulled it out last night?"

Sam took the blade with a mixture of confusion and fascination. "I barely remember you coming here last night, but this…I know I have never seen before. The letters at the bottom look like they were styled in the late fifteen hundreds." Sam squinted, "_For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night, Depart again: here, here will I remain_."

Dean look of pure ignorance and total bewilderment, forced Sam to laugh through his pain. "Ah, what was that supposed to mean?" Sam's pointed look put a smile on his face. "What college boy, what don't you explain the drama to a poor ignorant fool like me?"

"Dean, you really didn't retain anything from what little school we got to, did you?" Deciding not to shake his head at Dean's 'well duh' look, he explained it in words that a ten year old could have gotten. "Shakespeare, you know 'to be or not to be', 'et tu, Brutus', 'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo'."

"Classical Literature, this is so not my gig. Wait, Romeo? That's just a little bit too weird. Guess what book had the EMF reader acting crazy?" Dean fumbled around in his jacket and pulled a 'worse for wear' copy of the famous literature out. "There, Sammy boy, tell me why this lights up like a Christmas tree?"

"Sam, Dean. My name is Sam." He jerked the book out of Dean's hands and started flipping through the tattered pages. The photograph fell out and floated on to the bed unnoticed. "Huh, that's pretty coincidental, so you think the boyfriend manifested here? Maybe this was some sort of favorite book for the both of them, and the ghost drove her to act out the end of the play."

"Yeh, maybe but that seems too easy, why would they want to go after you, or do you have a better explanation for this piece of handiwork." Dean shoved the knife back into his pack. "Hey, where's that picture?" Dean pulled the photograph out from its spot on the comforter and handed it to his brother. "What's the theory on this?"

Sam face tightened in shock nearly dropped it; "I just remembered something in my dream. They were there, screaming for me to run."

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_So I'm hoping the end of the chapter left you guys at least a little interested in what's going on. This chapter had a few weird, and maybe seemingly filler elements, but trust me, it will all be revealed in time. _

_I just want to reiterate my **undying appreciation of your guys' support**, and then I'm going finish with a mooch for reviews. **Thanks guys, I hope to see you all again next week. **_

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_**Reviewer Responses:**_

_Warriora: Hey thanks for the compliment, I glad your saw something in this fic. _

_Dyme-Faemne: Thanks for the positive review, and I hoping to keep this quality up._

_Marty: I glad you're so enthused about this, this is an awesome show and I hope I can do it justice._

_Ghostwriter: Reviews like yours have me smiling all day, one question though, uh this might be the ignorant blonde in me talking, but, what exactly is the flip side?_

_Dark Fires: Cool name. I hope I updated fast enough for you. _

_Nate and Jake: You are so kind, I mean this is an amazing amount of praise for only on chapter, I hope I continue to please you. _

_RatherDashing: Gotta love your penname. I am glad that you like this fic so far. _

_Cassie: I updated as soon as I could, my writing time is pretty much restricted to after basketball on Saturday and before Life guarding on Sunday. I got like zero sleep this weekend._

_Dreema Azaleia Wingblade: Thanks for your outstanding praise, I posted this when I said I would. Hope you enjoyed!_

_SomeoneElsesDream: I glad you found this captured your attention, and for the fine thing, I say it my way, you say it yours, 'kay?_

_Christ's Girl: You are very devoted to your faith and I respect your opinion, but I feel that this is truer to the show, and I will continue to choose the dialogue I feel conveys the characters. I hope that this does not turn you off completely. _

_M.Kena: Did you notice you submitted your review twice, or was that some weird glitch? Anywho, a little criticism never hurt anyone, but I don't have the time to post multiple chapters a week. If you find it long, read it in shifts, or something… Thanks for your compliments, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have a feeling I'll hear about it if it did… _

_Ringwench: Your review brightened my day, yes sarcasm is my baby, it comprises around seventy percent of things that come out of my mouth so, yah. Hope to hear from you again!_

_HalfshellVenus: I'm glad for your critic's eye, there were a few things that I really need to take another look at. Yep, I have been using the word 'ordinate' wrong probably my entire life, uh thanks. (Nervous laugh) And with the sibling assholeishness thing, you'd be surprised what we can do to each other. But it does seem that they are starting to create and understanding with each other on the show. _

_Saiyuki123: Thanks for you review, and I hoped that I captured Sam and Dean accurately!_

_Southerncharm22: I just love reading such detailed and appreciative review like yours. Your devotion is a nice reward for a writers work. This chapter was a little off, so I hope I didn't throw you too badly, Dean's worried and Sam's not all there. You were right with the whole eye color thing, I fixed it. Thanks a lot and I hope to see your reviews again! _

_LittleWing: Thanks for the inspiring compliments on this story. So I'll have this to you as soon I get through with, might even be earlier than I said in the email._

_Cyberchick2007: Thanks for the review. And I actually updated when I said I would. _

_Charlie: So much thanks for the review: I know I'm doing a good job when I get a comment like Poor Sam or whatever. Sadism is fun…_

_Moonfairhime: I hope your eagerness was satiated, thanks for the comment!_

_LostAngel: I hope you think this is as good as the first. See you next week!_

_Happybear: Cheers to my first reviewer! Thanks for your compliments, and I hope this was fast enough for you!_


	3. Possession

_I'm so incredibly sorry that this is late, I was ill until Sunday, therefore up writing into the illegal hours of the morning, on more tea that is probably legal for three people my size. A great shout out to my **new beta Little Wing, go check her out, who did a very thorough job editing. You have her to thank for this, she's wonderfull!**_

_I know you guys will enjoy the ending, and the next chapter, tragedy aside, will be out on Tuesday. I absolutely loved the Hookman episode, to anyone who missed it, I pity you. _

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_**Grief's Possession**_

_**Chapter Three: Possession**_

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After a second of confused silence, Dean stuttered out, "You dreamt about them? What the hell are you talking about?" Sam knew by the passionately focused face he held Dean's full attentions. The relevance of the words slowly flittered through the elder brother's mind. The range of Dean's dark eyes and steel trap mind closed on Sam. There was no shaking him.

Sam glanced back towards the painted landscape that hung on the opposite wall. Quiet words formulated in his mind as he tried to tighten his tongue around them. The delusions of denial shocked even him. "I must have seen their picture or recognized their faces on the internet on a subconscious level. And just didn't put the two together," Sam said, softly in a vain attempt to rationalize his lie. The untruth rattled through him and he found it harder to turn and look Dean in the eye.

"Do you believe that, Sam? Are you willing to stake the lives of innocent people, your life, on that?" The cold determination of the elder Winchester settled in to air and thickened.

Of all the images pooling in his already guilty conscious, the one that floated to the top of Sam's mind was of her. Her gaped mouth, shadowed blond locks and the beauty of her face suddenly marred by the blue flames that were reaching out to him; begging him to succumb to them. Choking down the memory of her horror filled face staring back at him, Sam knew that if anyone else died- if he truly foresaw this- there would be no excuse. He would never let Dean trust him or be able look any honest person in the eye again. "No," he breathed; his eyes still refusing to rise up to meet Dean's steely gaze.

Dean nodded his head reassuringly, "Alright, then we're wasting daylight here. I need something to eat and an intravenous of caffeine... you too I'm guessing. And then we'll figure this out." Dean held out his hand and Sam smiled skeptically. Straightening to push out of the soft mattress his stomach did a flip-flop, and he felt like lying back again. Forcing himself upward his eyes met Dean's concerned gaze and regarded the offered hand. After a second failed attempt at balance, Sam used it to lever himself shakily out of the warm bed.

"Dean, the floor is spinning?" Sam questioned weakly as he wobbled precariously, and tried to settle his shaky equilibrium. "Isn't it?"

Dean's answering laugh sounded forced. "No, that would be you." Dean's hand still gripped Sam's arm as he helped his brother to his bag. The floor seemed to rise up underneath him, like when he'd put on some old person's glasses as a kid. Carefully Dean helped to lean Sam against the fake oak desk. Pulling the worn duffle bag to himself, Sam began to root through it, convinced there was at least one pair of pants in there that had not started walking on their own.

Finally throwing on a dark t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, he pulled on his running shoes. Standing slowly, he pulled on his jacket and looked to his brother, "Where to?"

"I was thinking the diner across the way. After I check out your head." Wearing his 'I'm right, so shut the hell up' face Dean cut off any rebuttal that would have slid from of Sam's mouth. "The last thing we need is for that to get infected."

"Wow, Dean, your concern for my health is astonishing," Sam growled, following Dean into the bathroom he sat on the edge of the tub. Leaning against the maroon coloured wall for balance, Sam closed his eyes and waited for his brother to come again with the first aid kit.

Returning quickly, Dean pulled out tape, gauze, a pair of scissors, and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. After rolling his eyes at the surprising gentleness of his brother's ministrations, Sam bit back a hiss at the sting of the rubbing alcohol. "Big baby! This stuff doesn't hurt that bad! Does it?"

Sam's sarcastic remark had Dean smiling, "Like a person who finds this all very amusing has just wiped acid on a gaping hole in my skull."

After he had finished cleaning the small gash, Dean taped a piece of gauze over the top of it, and said in a sweet-pitched voice, "All better now? Seriously though, are you up to all of this running around? If you aren't feeling any better, I don't want to be dragging you around... you'll just be dead weight."

Looking at the floor Sam tried to gauge himself. The little patterned roses had finally stopped dancing around him. "Yeah... I am... a little bit."

Nodding, Dean began cleaning the sink up again. "I don't think you cracked anything, your head is much too thick for that," pausing Dean looked at his brother, "you look like hell."

"Thanks a lot jackass! Just the reassurance I was looking for," Sam said with a ghost of a smile. Getting up on, now, steady feet he moved to wash his hands in the sink. "Are we done?" he asked looking at the bandage on his head.

"Hey, what are big brothers for?" Dean said brightly, pushing in beside his brother. Gelling his hair back into its usual position, he smiled and said, "besides, Sammy, you know me... I'm a positive kinda guy. I'm also a guy who needs to wash his clothes...hope there's a Laundromat near by." Running a comb through his hair, Sam removed a small amount of crusted blood from his hair and finished getting ready. "Silver bullet, werewolf, human for laundry duty?" Dean's bright eyes made Sam cringe.

"You still remember our version of rock, paper, scissors," Sam chuckled "Man we were demented little children. I'll do it, you always seem to turn the whites all sorts of vibrant colors. I don't want to attract anymore vampires, thanks."

"Hey, it isn't_ my _fault that vampires are attracted to bright colors." Dean stepped out of the bathroom, to avoid an elbow in the ribs. "Besides, bright pink was suited to your complexion."

"Don't say that again...ever." The two men decided to tidy up their room, packing away the more conspicuous items in their bags with combination locks. Ushering his brother out of the room, Dean grabbed the black garbage bag. Settling into the cool leather seats of the black four-door, Dean put the key into the ignition. "So, what do you want pizza or pancakes?"

"Very profound. Pancakes." Sam looked out the window, focusing on a couple of tall buildings in the distance, towards the city center. The too close flashings of other buildings and cars were making him dizzy and nauseous. Dean's sudden left turn crossing two oncoming lanes of heavy traffic jerked Sam's head and stomach in opposite directions, making him gag.

"If you hurl in my car… God help you." Dean shook his head as they pulled into a McDonalds. "You going to make it to a trash can? Cause I really don't want to explain to the cops why I killed my brother. You know being in the FBI will only help so much."

Sam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. "Why are we at the Golden Arches of fast food?"

"You said you wanted pancakes. There was a Pizza Hut on the right side of the street, but no…" Dean smirked and got out of the car, leaving Sam cringing in the passenger seat. "You coming or not, and we're not stopping anywhere else until we talk to the Lewisons again."

Woefully, Sam got out of the car and resigned to following his brother into the bright and cheerful world of the hamburger. Pushing past an elderly couple talking flamboyantly in the entryway he joined his brother in an expectantly long line. The overweight man in front of them turned around and smiled, fisting a fifty. Dean smiled back, like an idiot. Sam could see the woman at the counter walking around leisurely filling orders with no hurry at all. She stopped and mingled with a male associate for at least three minutes before she finally turned back to fill the family at the front of the line's order.

An older man with a tall wife and their four kids all stood at the front of line bickering about their orders. First the kids couldn't decide what they wanted, then they constantly were changing their orders of fries to onion rings and back. And the cheerful woman at the counter found this all very amusing. Sam looked back to see his brother in an intense conversation with a vicarious redhead. Sighing softly, he glanced back to see the mother trying to find exact change for a thirty-eight dollar and seventy-seven cent meal. The line advanced and with Dean so engaged in the young woman's 'face' he stood blocking the way for an ever-increasing number of patrons. Bleakly he wondered if could get away with tapping Dean on the shoulder and saying, "Honey, we're next in line," without getting violently exorcised the next night. Sam simply pulled on the back of his brother's collar, instead, to escort him to the proper places in line. He heard someone clap as the new wave of people squirmed around the hole Dean made.

"Sam, what the hell!" was Dean's irritated response to being pulled away from the conversation he was having. "I was talking to the nice secretary... and you.. the hell?"

Through Dean's irate sputtering and ignoring the glaring attention of nearly everyone in the small restaurant he said quietly, "your turn to order."

"What! Fine. You and I are going to have a chat about respect later…"

Placing their trays on a greasy table, they sat and Sam contemplated eating the rubbery golden flap jacks. Sam looked around the small packed fast food joint, but his eyes settled on Dean. The dark smudges underneath his brother's eyes were disconcerting. His older brother was looking out the window into the street, gazing at nothing. The thin drawn lines of his face portrayed every bit of weariness that Sam would not have guessed he had. Chewing absently Sam felt a fresh pain of guilt stab him, he vaguely remember someone talking to him, all night. Dean hadn't slept, hadn't rested, and had not even joked about looking like shit himself. Dean was starting to neglect himself for his own brother. _Hm, what a sad pair of freaks we make._ Something then was not sitting right, and the mauled remains of cold batter and sugar gave him a sickly feel.

"Come on Sam," Dean said quickly, getting up from the table tray in hand, "time to go," Setting the dark brown tray by the trash, Dean fixed the back of his collar, "Come on Sammy," he repeated, giving his younger brother a quick cuff to the arm before muttering to himself, "She was a _secretary_." A low moan of disapproval could have had Sam shaking his head, if it was not already doing that on its own.

"Another time, Dean, please. Not right now," Sam groaned as he dropped his heavy feeling body disjointedly into the soft leather of the passenger seat, noting that Dean had managed to pull a worn plastic cassette tape from thin air as he slid easily behind the steering wheel.

"Sorry Sammy," he said with a half ass smile and a shake of his head, "consider this my revenge for interrupting my wooing conversation of the easy and stunning Ms... Uh… Kathy… Caitlin…uh…" Dean shrugged as he neglected the rest of his thought and pushed the over played tape into the deck.

"What conversation? You were going to flirt with her for another five maybe ten minutes, anyway," Sam scoffed white knuckling the dash as Dean ruthlessly changed lanes.

"Hey, I was looking at maybe even a date out of that little deal after we're done this job." Dean made a sudden right turn onto an exit that would have Hollywood stunt drivers impressed.

"How did you ever get your driver's license?" Sam shot at Dean, thankful that he couldn't recall that period of time with much clarity.

"Actually that was the first time I ever forged an official document without Dad having to point out any errors," Dean said with a proud smile. Sam snickered disgustedly.

"I can tell. Do you even know what a speed limit is?" Shaking his head, Sam said, "don't answer that. I think TV was the only reason we even knew about 'normal life.'" Sam ignored the hurt puppy look he received from his brother. It wasn't that Dean was a horrible driver- he had to be good to pull of the tricks that were regularly accomplished in their line of work- it was just that every other move he made on the road was illegal. Well, Sam mused to himself, why should driving be any different than any other part of their lives.

Dean stopped the old Keith Richard's tape, "All right, Sam, give me the crash course in the play. My total knowledge of Romeo and Juliet is that they killed themselves in the end."

"Could you please not mention the word crash? And that's just sad. Ah, in the beginning it shows a scene of the houses of Capulet and Montague fighting in the streets of Vienna. The Prince stops the fighting under pain of death of any who are involved in the feud." Sam made a sideways glance to his brother to see if he was following.

"That's harsh."

"Yep," Sam said taking a deep breath and continued. "Lord and Lady Montague were worried about their son Romeo because he was becoming a recluse. His true love, well the woman he desired, did not want his affections, and wished to stay chaste."

"Chaste?"

"Untouched, pure…" Sam waved his hand in an ongoing motion.

"Oh a virgin… I can sympathize there."

"So, Romeo's friends take him to a party at the Capulet's, where across the floor he sees Juliet. He convinces her to dance with him, they kiss and do the whole fall in love thing." Dean noticed a sour note of resentment in Sam's voice.

"Later that night he proposes to her and they get married the next dawn with only her nurse and their trusted Friar as witness. That day Romeo goes off to prepare for their wedding night and he meets Juliet's cousin Tybalt in the street. He refuses to fight his in-law, so his fried Mercutio protects him, and dies. Romeo takes Tybalt's life in revenge, and is therefore banished from Vienna, and not executed because Mercutio was the Prince's cousin." Sam took a sip of his corrosive and a wave of queasiness returned.

"They meet in secret and have a romantic night together before he slinks off to a nearby city. Juliet then learns that her father is forcing her to marry someone else- Paris, a wealthy nobleman. And seeks the Friar's help in returning her to her husband. So on her last night before the wedding she takes a potion that feigns death- kind of like that voodoo drug I accidentally took and had you both balling your eyes out over me. So she 'dies' and Romeo never gets word of the plan. Rushing to her side, he ends up fighting and killing Paris, and then-"

"Stabs himself! That part I know!"

"Actually, he takes some poison. Juliet wakes to see him dead, and then kills herself with his dagger. The families realize that their hatred for one anther killed their children and make nice."

"I was mostly right about the stabbing thing," Dean said with a nod, committing everything he just heard to memory. "So how'd the entire play get stuck in your head?"

Shrugging Sam said, "Wrote an English midterm on it last year." Giving his head a short shake- whishing sincerely that he hadn't- Sam studied Dean and the perturbed look etched across his face. "Don't look at me like that. That test was horrible! I was just this side of summoning the great Shakespeare himself to explain it to me."

"I would have." Dean smiled back at Sam. "That's pretty complicated for what we think is going on here. I hope this isn't all based on that play. I bet the Cliff Notes version is like forty bucks."

"So what's the family like? I would rather not walk in there blind." Sam relaxed in his seat as the car passed through the center of city.

Dean's low voice rumbled on, "That kid you spoke to on the phone, he's got the whole bitterness thing going, couldn't crack him. The mother is the apple pie type, you know the whole can't stand silence for more than thirty seconds- 'Would you like these fresh baked pastries.' The old man's pretty quiet, misses his little girl."

"So co-operation is out with the only witness," Sam said rolling his eyes.

"Hey, you could give it a whirl. I mean you're kinda functioning on the same wave length," Dean said with his patented smart ass smile, noting the lack of rise it got out of Sam. "We're here," Dean said, his voice thick with worry for his little brother, cut through the thick silence that'd hung in the car- staling up the air- since he'd tried to poke fun at Sam and his grouchy mood nearly twenty minutes before.

Pulling the car into the neighbor's driveway, Dean put it into park. Judging by the number of newspapers piled up on the porch, he guessed that they weren't coming back before he and Sam were ready to leave.

Walking confidently to the front door, Dean reached to knock as it was swung open. The salt and peppered hair of the woman, who looked as though she were in her fifties, bounced slightly- though never falling out of place- as she gracefully moved to the side allowing them access to her house. Sam ducked around the low light fixture in the cramped porch, and kicked off his shoes.

Smiling sadly, yet somehow gratefully, the woman led them to her kitchen table. They could see a pot bubbling on the stove. Sam turned to introduce himself, feeling his near never used manners kicking to the surface; he'd learned those from TV too. Her deep green eyes widened at the sight of the gauze tapped to his forehead. Unconsciously Sam reached up to touch it, and shrugged. "Hello Mrs. Lewison, my name is Sam Winchester, I was unable to come last night." He gave her his most charming smile, it even rivaled his elder brother's. She barely noticed.

"Sorry, if this little bump bothers you," his eyes flicked to Dean who was glaring at him, for whatever reason, "it's fine really. I was just kind of clumsy last night."

She took a breath and turned to face Dean, "What do you plan on doing?"

"Well, we are gonna try summoning any spirits that have visited her room lately. It will take us a few minutes to set up in there though. Do you have any salt, 'fraid we're fresh out." She nodded and returned to her cupboard, pulling out a box. Dean took it, and pulled Sam to the stairwell. "What was that about?"

"Don't know… she just freaked." Sam took the stairs slowly; his too heavy head weighing him down again.

Dean pulled open the door to the bedroom for his brother, turning in time to see the younger brother step out of his room. The young man sent a baleful glare towards Dean, and turned toward Sam. The young man's emotional eyes caught sight of the bandage on Sam's head and he stopped, staring at the older man in wonder.

"Where did you get that?" he managed to choke past his dried lips. Looking like a deer caught in headlights, Sam eyed the young man's countenance suspiciously.

"He was sleep waking, tripped and cut his head on the bathroom sink," Dean finally answered- a little too truthfully- breaking the momentary silence that was edging toward awkward.

The boy's dark eyes widened, further, and he mumbled something to himself; neither Winchester could decipher. "What?" Sam's less than amused voice caught the boy off guard.

"It's… just…Karin, she did the same thing six days before she…" Dean's eyes widened as he turned to stare at his brother in both horror and suspicion. What was Sam not telling him? Other than the many things that Sam would never tell him. Obviously rattled and oblivious to the look that passed between the brothers continued on with his story, "and she…uh…found the knife…the knife… that she…ah…after she woke up. She pleaded with me not to tell anyone, and I didn't…I promised…I never…didn't see it again until she…The police phoned today, it's disappeared from the evidence locker " Becoming and impossible shade of paler, the boy looked between the two and asked in a less shaky voice than before, "What's going on?"

Collecting his thoughts first, Dean said, "We're going to find who ever hurt your sister, and send them back to what ever hell they popped out of."

Nodding the kid turned back to his room. Sam pushed Dean's shoulder, "Lets get this over with, Dean. Then I'm going to melt that knife." The two went into the room and took a seat on the beige carpet. Dean drew a line of salt around them to contain the spirits they were going to summon, while Sam pulled a worn canvas out of the duffle bag. Biting back his fear and worry, Sam chanted softly in Latin chimes. "All of those that have come into this place and time, reveal your likeness, to you I summon," speaking loudly Sam finished off in an English phrase.

Both brothers bowed their heads as they felt the air cool around them. A single lit candle on the canvas expelled a great burst of flame. The flaring light died down to a single ember as eleven shapes circled over their heads. The cold whispering forms held some shape as they stopped and drifted above at rest above Sam and Dean. The voice's and accents of many different origins gently repeated, "she comes."

A cold sickly voice, a low reverberating sound, droned over the agonized and hushed whispers, "we have come. And you have brought the thirtieth for me." In seemingly slow motion a black cloud manifested in the center of where the voices were coming from. Before either brother could think, or act it dove down, coming between Sam and Dean. A shout of warning stopped in Dean's throat as he watched the cloud appear to turn and then cover his little brother. Sam's head fell back, his arms spread wide- as though he were being hit with a live electrical wire- and an agonized scream escaped him, filling the cold air of the room. As suddenly as it began it ended. Hour long seconds passed before Sam tipped his head back to stare at Dean. His breath lodged in his throat, and his heart threatening to burst through his ribs, Dean watched with horror filled eyes as the nearly hidden face of Sam seemed to examine him. Though the light was almost nonexistent Dean could see that there was something wrong with the picture staring back at him.

Dean's heart sank as it broke beneath his ribs, boring into his hazel eyes were black, inky, eyes instead of Sam's expressive brown ones.

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_Ha ha a cliffie, nana na nah na._

_There were a few technical problems so I'm hoping the formatting isn't skewed, bare with me. _

_Hope you guys are gnawing at the bit; I want to hear from all of you. You guys amaze and thrill me with all of your reviews. Keep it up!_

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_**Reviewer Responses:**_

_Jenn: Thanks for your compliments and support!_

_Warriora: Thanks a lot, and I was quick enough for you I hope!_

_Windyfontaine: Thanks for your positive encouragement, and your probably the first reviewer who acknowledged the need for a writer to sleep. _

_Stony Angel: Thanks, you have me blushing, but really I always appreciate the appreciation…_

_DawnLove: You are so encouraging, and I'm glad that you believe that I am doing a decent job with the characterization. The Iny fics aren't mine, but my sister would love to hear from you._

_Cyberchick2007: You are so dedicated, its amazing to see that people enjoy what I write so much, thanks._

_Tanya: Yeh, I love the brotherly fighting fluff myself… I will thank you for both your reviews._

_Shadowcat15: Thanks so much, I am trying to update faster than I did this week._

_SomeoneElsesDream: You didn't step on my toes, but I'm glad I intrigued you._

_Nate and Jake: Thanks a lot, I really tried._

_Violet Eternity: I love reviews like yours, I really tried to update as soon as I was able._

_Ghostwriter: Thanks again, interesting origin of your little catch phrase…_

_Southercharm22: Your help is appreciated, I gave you an email, if you are still interested, drop me a line. Oh and thanks for your review, I glad you believe I am staying true to the creators ideas and guides._

_Charli: I love and angsty Sam, and I love your very encouraging review! Thanks, I was trying to get a creepy factor in all of this._

_Dyrne-Faemne: Ah, your kinda close with your prediction, in a third cousin removed sorta way. Thanks for your support and encouragement of my view of the show aligning with the actual writers. _

_Jessica: Sam is my favorite too. Thanks for the encouragement. _

_ChaiGirl: Thanks, I glad I hooked someone with this. I was worried about the suspense factor._

_HappyBear2005: Thanks for the review and the understanding, I hope the slightly longer wait didn't throw you off. Really I didn't mean to come down with the flu. (inject self-pity)_

_Little Wing: I am so amazed and very happy with the excellent job you did editing this chapter. Oh, you certainly are a great asset to this work. I really hope you continue to do this. Your insight and ideas are wonderful and fresh. Thanks is not appreciation enough…!_

_Dark Fires: Thanks for review again. I glad I caught your eye, and this chapters ending probably annoyed, just a little bit. Gotta thank my beta for a slight extension though. _

_Dreama Azaleia Wingblade: I am glad that you love this fic so much, just one person like you would have me continue this. _

_Moonfairyhime: Thanks so much for your positive review, I'm glad you appriciate my style and compliment me, I'm getting a big head about all of this…_

_**REVIEWER RESPONSE ARE GETTING LONGER THAN THE CHAPTER KEEP IT UP!**_


	4. In Your Mind

_Another chapter, nice long one for you guys._

_And a couple of days late, through conflicting schedules, I'm bumping the update back to Wednesday. Not a big deal, just to make sure that its not late._

_This I hope makes all of you happy. It was fun, well interesting, to write._

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_**Grief's Possession**_

_**Chapter Four: In Your Mind**_

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Mesmerized by the ominous gaze captivating his sight, Dean did not feel their father's well used and worn journal drop from the flaccid grip of his hands; did not feel the cool air around him whip with the presence of the eleven vengeful spirits. He could only feel, only see the cold vengeful glare of the one person, other than his father, whom he always- without question- trusted to watch his back.

The listless inky eyes pierced through to the core of him, holding him rapt and unable to move. The demon's bastardization of his brother's features was undeniably evil. Only one word managed to croak through Dean's drying, frozen lips, "Sam."

A low screeching chuckle passed through the possessed man's tightly pressed lips as a smile twisted its way across the once handsome face. Not an inch of its face resembled Sam's likeness; none of the distant hope, none of the intellect, and none of the goodness remained. Tilting Sam's broad brow down- his longish brown locks rushing to cover his face- its smile twisted deeper as shadows moved in to obscure the mess it was making of Sam's once wistful features. In shocked horror, Dean watched as the spirit tensed the muscles of its host. Leaning away from the rigid body of his possessed brother, the elder Winchester attempted to gather his wits and stay within the circle. Smoothly Sam's body catapulted him to his feet; his body seeming to flow into place. Still gathering his wits, Dean watched in astonished terror as the spirit rolled Sam's head in a semi-circle, relaxing the once tensed muscles. Sneering at the shaken man on the floor, still encased in the circle drawn on the floor, it turned to head for door.

How could Sam have been possessed? He wasn't afraid, wasn't angry, and Dean knew that his brother hadn't hit the bottle in some time. The implications that Sam- who spent nearly every moment with him- had hidden such an emotional rift from him completely floored his brother.

"Where the hell do think you' re going," Dean asked, forcing the words to form and his throat to produce the scratchy sound.

"It is not as I intended to escape my prison," the spirit said sharply; suddenly turning to face Dean standing across from the candle. Abruptly the flame of the candle flared- licking its hot tongues out at Dean- and instinctively he stepped back throwing an arm up to protect his face. Using Sam's quiet voice it murmured, "Nevertheless, I think that I will keep it." It shifted to face the only exit to the room, and tried to step out of the containing circle.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, snaking an arm up to haul his brother's demon inhabited ass back into the ring. Realizing too late that the demon was preparing to fight back, Dean felt it bring Sam's right foot back nearly behind him, and he plunged to the floor, punched strongly in the jaw. The demon glared at him- satisfied- as his grip on Sam's jacket broke. Again it turned and attempted to leave. Focusing his mind on the singular task of stopping that thing from walking off with his little brother's body, Dean shot a leg out connecting solidly with the back of Sam's knee. He couldn't help the smile that etched across his face as the thing in Sam's body let out a growl and dropped in a boneless heap to the hard floor.

Pushing himself from his awkward position on the floor, Dean observed his brother shaking. The black aura lifted partially, and Sam's deep brown eyes turned to Dean, locking onto his hazel ones. "Dean," Sam said in a horse whisper, "run, and get them out of the house…" a scream began to form in his mouth as the entity tightened its grip on him, pulling the black curtain back over Sam's body. "They aren't safe," his voice was little more than a strangled hiss as the words left his mouth.

Furious the demon cried out, "No! I will keep you!" and staggered to his feet.

Rushing up behind Sam, Dean attempted to grab him in an arm lock. Sam rotated and bucked his body once again lifting Dean's feet from the floor, and tossed him- as though he were little more than a rag doll- sideways; his spine connecting firmly with the corner of a desk. All the air rushed out of his lungs and grey spots speckled at the corners of his vision. All he noticed was that he had broken the containment barrier, and that another mass of dark was coming his way in a hurry. As it rushed toward him, Dean did the only thing he had the energy left to do- he swore.

Hovering above Dean, the ghost tugged gently at the soft fabric of his shirt. Feeling slightly helpless and hollow Dean ignored the entity as it swirled and hovered above him. Instead he fixed his dazed eyes in the demon wearing Sam as a jacket, as its fingers closed around the doorknob.

"No," Sam's hand dropped from the cool metal of the knob. "I will not lose this host. That one will try to purge me from it." Turning sharply from the door, Sam crossed the room to where Dean leaned heavily against the desk he'd hit in the scuffle. Plucking Dean's abused body from the floor, the demon in Sam slammed his fist hard into Dean's solar plexus. What little breath Dean had been able to catch was instantly driven from his tired lungs and he sank back to his spot on the floor. Through the fog that was clouding his mind, Dean witnessed the demon prepare for another assault. Just as it brought Sam's foot down for a bone crushing stomp, Dean forced his aching body to roll in the opposite direction. With a loud grunt he forced his already bruised back and abdominal muscles to flip himself to his feet.

"Come on, bitch, that all you got?" Dean shot a smile at the thing inside his brother, trying hard to not all out laugh at the conflicted look he received from it. "What's the matter? Can't decide if you wanna finish me or not? Or is that brother of mine tearing at you from the inside?" Twisting his face in rage, Sam rushed Dean. Side stepping the sudden assault, Dean delivered a swift, hard hit to the back of his brother's neck. Something that would have stopped a bull of a man scarcely fazed the demon. Smiling its twisted smile, it straightened and took an overconfident step toward Dean; dropping its guard, momentarily. Mumbling an "I'm sorry," Dean let fly with a left hook, followed by a quick right uppercut into his little brother's jaw. A sharp, sickening crack filled the air as the demon stumbled back a couple of steps. Smiling through his newly mangled jaw Sam brought his hands to his face. Another crunch filled the air as his jaw snapped back into place.

"I will keep this host, boy," it said, starting towards Dean again. "I cannot feel his pain. I will not be stopped by it. But I assure you Sam's soul is screaming at your torture, though. Stop damaging this body… it will only limit me later. Know that you are assisting me in breaking the resident mind, and for that I will give you a quick death," it said, perverting Sam's voice as it spoke through a broken jaw. Dean couldn't help but wince with pain every time it forced Sam's jaw to move.

"Ya know, I'd really like to believe that. You might not be stopped by pain, but I'm not letting you walk out that door to hurt innocent people. Not over _my_ dead body." Dean said dropping his aching body easily into a fighting stance.

"We seem to agree." It smiled as it lashed a fist out at Dean. Moving as fast as he could Dean attempted to dodge the blow. A low growl escaped him as his head snapped back and to the side from the blow landing solidly behind his ear. While it had Dean reeling from the first strike, the demon in Sam quickly brought its left fist up to hit Dean with an uppercut of its own. Staggering backwards, Dean regained his balance and caught Sam's arm; quickly twisting it behind the younger man's back. The elder Winchester struggled with his brother as Sam's tall frame thrashed around trying to get free of Dean's adrenaline powered assault. Wrapping his forearm around Sam's neck, Dean did the one thing he didn't want to and squeezed.

Its voice choked past Sam's lips, "Let go fool, you are killing us! I will go back to the shadows! I warn you, I will return!" A violent tremor tore through Sam's body as the demon exited him, and then fell slack against Dean's grip.

Heart pounding in his chest, Dean lowered his brother to the floor. He didn't just…his brother? He couldn't even bring himself to say or think the word kill; couldn't allow the questions to form in his mind. Tilting his brother's head back, Dean listened. A faint rattling wheeze stung his ears, sounding as good to him as a choir of angels singing "Halleluiah." Sighing in relief he righted himself. With a shaky hand Dean reached up to touch his face, when a small splash of clear liquid fell into the middle of Sam's forehead.

"Oh, God…I…I'm sorry," he choked out quickly running his hands over his eyes to wipe away the tears dampening his face. "Fuck, am I sorry. I…I couldn't let you…I couldn't let _it_ leave here…not…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the spirits still trapped with them in the room, needing to be released. He moved to stand, only to discover that his legs wouldn't support him. And suddenly he became aware, in a crashing wave, all of the places he'd been hit. His body started to tremble, and his back shot spikes of pain out in all directions. Beginning to feel cold he shook his head and thought wryly, "that's shock for you."

Slowly the door creaked open to an oblivious Dean, seated on the floor. Small tremors shook his hands and his head hung low, heavy with guilt. A low voice broke through to the muddled light in his brain, "my God!" it breathed, and a rush of footfalls filled the room. "What the hell happened! You two look trashed. What was all the crashing?" Andrew looked between the brother's and the mess of the room, he quickly moved back to the hall. Dean heard him shout, "Mom! We need the first aid kit! They're a total wreck!"

Running back into the room Andrew dropped to his knees at Sam's side. "What the hell happened? For this much trouble you guys had better have gotten it."

Dizzily looking up to where the spirits had been coursing through the air, Dean saw no sign of them. With a slight shrug he thought, 'They must've left on their own.' "Sorry, Andrew, we didn't." Crawling to the place where he had dropped his father's journal. Dean pocketed it. Dean attempted to stand once again, but an over powering sense of vertigo stopped him. Suddenly he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder helping him back down. Looking at his shoulder in bewilderment, he saw thin rays of light emanating from the slim hand. Slowly his eyes moved from the shining hand to follow the length of an arm. Next to him sat a translucent spectre, smiling. Her gentle eyes and face radiated a strange sense of well being and off in a deep corner of his mind, he could have sworn that a brush of a "thank you," touch his ears.

Whispering incoherently she motioned toward Sam's prone form. His rasping breathing seemed to become less strained and even Dean felt some of his paralysing pain dampen. With a small sigh and a smile of his own Dean opened his mouth to speak to her only to shut it when he saw that she'd moved. Fading whispers filled his ears and he once again focused his attention on Sam. Looking at Dean she lifted her hand and beckoned him over to them. A smile still on her lips, she beckoned him one last time before turning her attention to Sam. Brunette hair flowed behind her, caught in an ethereal breeze, as she blinked her peace filled amber eyes a bittersweet smile danced upon her lips. With a final wave of her hand, she faded away into a mist.

Bleary eyes jerked back into focus, as Dean's head spun dangerously out of control when he attempted to stand. Stretching his aching arms out, he dropped to his hands and knees. Willing the room to stop moving, Dean carefully edged to Sam's side. "Sam?" he stretched a still shaky hand out and gave his brother's shoulders a gentle shake. "Hey, Sammy," he barely whispered, "come on, man, wake up. I need to see if you're okay." There were no signs of consciousness, nothing, not even a batted eyelid. 'No,' his mind began to chant as his hand once again gave his brother's shoulder a gentle shake. "Come one, man, quick slacking. You always seem to leave the hard work to me. Come on, Sam." Dean felt the pull of a hand on his shoulder and turned to look up into the quietly stern face of Mr. Lewison.

"Mr. Winchester, how about you come back over here to rest for a second. My wife is a retired nurse, she'll know if your brother needs any medical help. It'll be easier for her to work, if you're relaxing over here. Dean felt as the man put his arm under his shoulders and helped him to his daughter's bed. Tiredly Dean leaned against the pillows; thankful that he had something soft to lean against this time. The desk was probably not the greatest choice as a cushion. "Did you free my daughter?" The unspoken question thickened the air, not uttered in fear of the answer. Dean's eyes caught the unadulterated love and concern that rustled in the eyes of the family and spoke softly.

"She's free, Kent." He saw remorse lift off the grieving father's shoulders. "Your daughter has moved on." Sighing he shifted on the bed to get a better view of his brother. Margaret was sitting with his prone brother, gazing sadly upon his face, holding an icepack to his head.

"I… we… what can I say? You saved our daughter from the clutches of a demon, and put her at peace. I can only hope that it did not cause too much trouble for you." Margaret stood slowly and made her way to Dean, regarding him with scrutiny. "Are you any better off than your brother?" she murmured coming to rest on the edge of the bed next to him. "Come, let me take a look at you." Deftly her fingers probed the darkening contusions.

Pulling back Dean gave her his most charming smile. "Thanks, but…a….I should probably take Sam, and get going," Dean said stiffly moving from the bed, trying to suppress the cries of protest emanating from his back. "Glad we could help you." Frowning he turned back to Sam-still lying prone on the floor.

"If you insist, but please come back in a few days to collect your payment and maybe a good meal. I still remember what your father did for my family, we will be forever grateful. My sister's apartment had a water sprite in the basement pipes. I can only imagine what kind of person it takes to help people, and receives no thanks." The middle-aged woman's gaze was once again transfixed on Sam, concern etched across her tender face.

Walking the few mile long steps to his brother's side Dean pulled Sam up into a sitting position. "Come on Sam, wakee waky."

Slowly Sam's eyes slid open and locked with Dean's. The brown orbs widened dramatically, before being clamped shut again. Dean pulled Sam to his feet, and the two stood there rocking trying to find their balance until Andrew hastily slid under Sam's other side. "It's the least I can do."

Nodding in appreciation, Dean watched the young man like hawk as they eased Sam's nearly unconscious form down the stairs. Every step they took with Sam's limp body between added to a steadily rising worry in Dean's heart. At every corner Dean relived the brutal way he'd defended himself from Sam, and the malicious way Sam had attacked; forced to see the undying malevolence glinting in the dark eyes staring out from Sam's face.

After the long journey through the narrow hallways, across cluttered living room and down the steep porch steps, they safely settled into the car, Andrew looked through the open window at the driver's side at the two of them. Dean slid behind the familiar steering wheel trying get comfortable and vainly collect all of his faculties. Taking a reassuring glance in the rear-view mirror he saw Sam, still stretched along the back seat. He lay with his head and neck propped against the passenger side door. The rare used seat belts were buckled tightly along Sam's lean tall body. Dean realised that had Andrew not been there, he would have never been able to procure a position that would have stabilized Sam's body. Dean whispered a small prayer to whom ever was listening to hold Sam's body in place until they returned to the hotel. Andrew, have apparently heard Dean's small faith, elicited a surprised smile.

Turning the engine on Dean looked up to see Andrew still standing there studying them. "I'm glad that you could help her." He looked uneasily at them. Dean could feel the mistrust and anger that still burned in him, though it was now being overpowered by thankfulness. "I'm coming with you to your hotel. Help you get him settled. I'll call a cab to come back. She'd want me to."

"Thanks," he said with an easy smile, "but I really don't think that's necessary. Sammy and I'll manage." Dean watched half expectantly as the young man sighed, and slid in the seat beside him, clicking the lock shut.

"And I passed my history final." Seeing Dean's confused countenance, he explained, "I was being _sarcastic_." He looked over his shoulder at the pain washed face of Sam, and he shuddered. "What the hell happened in there?"

"You'd die a happy man not knowing," Dean said curtly as he backed the Impala out of the driveway. Dean drove slowly through traffic, making the trip to the Best Western Hotel last longer than the twenty minutes it'd taken to get to the house. He noted that every once in a while the young man sitting next to him would look between them, a question on his tongue, but he never asked; just let it hang in the air before fear killed it.

Dean guided the Impala mechanically through the traffic while is mind attempted to sift through the day's events. He couldn't shake the image of Sam's face twisted in rage at him, and how that thing had tried to use his little brother against him. Sam would never have let that thing kill him, no matter what it claimed. Sam was too strong to completely succumb to that thing's will. Play by play of their fight raced through his mind, and he realized now that many of Sam's moves were wild and missed their mark. Sam was too good and knew better than to throw those wild punches. He would never have missed an opportunity to deliver a crushing blow; no he would've found ways to create the opportunity to hit harder and faster than his opponent- like when he fought the shape shifter. Shaking off the disturbing thoughts, Dean pulled in behind the hotel; right into a handicapped spot next to an ill-used door and an elevator.

Andrew hopped out of the car, opening the door that Sam was propped against; he carefully manoeuvred the unconscious man so that he could undo the seat belts. Stealthily Dean swooped in behind Andrew to aid in pulling his brother out. Dean's back balked angrily and Dean let out a low hiss. The teenager's arm positioned suddenly under Sam's torso, and Dean gave the kid a look. "I got him."

The kid shook his head and pulled Sam's arm tighter around his shoulder, kicking shut the Impala's door. Dean didn't notice. With some amount of difficulty they opened the glass door and headed toward the deserted looking elevator. On their way up to the door and button panel, four important well-dressed business men opened the door to the get out and took one long look at them, with horrified eyes, and pompously ran away. Dean could not help but laugh. "We get that a lot."

The ding to the fourth floor finally sounded and the trio made their way slowly to the door of the room. Fumbling through his pockets manically Dean and stopped rolled his eyes. "Guess who has the keycard?" After going through Sam's jacket pockets, shirt pocket and front pants pockets- he swore, drawing out a quieted chortle from the teenager- and moved to the back pockets. Sam's eyes chose that moment to open, and he moaned in protest. "It's all right, little brother, just looking for the room key."

Dean flashed the card victoriously at Andrew whose grunted acclaim of, "Just open the damned door, already. This guy's about twice my total mass when I'm soaking freaking wet," was obeyed as Dean shoved open the now unlocked door. Fumbling around with Sam's semi-conscious form they settled him onto the bed. For a moment Sam lay there looking like a wounded puppy trying to push himself up until he seemed to tire of that and fell back asleep, they hoped, not unconscious.

Andrew picked up the phone and dialled room service. "Yeah Room 412. We'd like some extra towels… yes… yeah we'll pay for those. Sorry must have…" a dial tone assault Andrew's ears. Looking up at Dean – Andrew's bright blue eyes clouded slightly with shock- he exclaimed, "You stole towels? Already!" Dean gave a 'what are you going to do?' shrug and put the single remaining cold towel on his brother's jaw. The look of guilt and betrayal plastered across Dean's face did not escape Andrew, and he had to physically quell the rising questions that hung in his head. "Hey, they have a pool here right?" Dean gave a quick nod, "I'll go grab some from there, I saw an ice bucket down the hall, and you could go get some quickly. It'll help with the swelling."

After a quick run to get the suggested supplies, both men returned at the same time. Dean would never admit how much effort it took him to walk down the hall after carrying his brother. Andrew seemed to notice some of Dean's controlled and stiff movements. "Hey, whatever did this to him got you too. Why don't you relax and I'll keep watch over Sam," suggested the young man.

Dean glanced up warily, seemly to size the boy up. After a much-extended staring match the elder Winchester relented to sitting in the large recliner, and pretended to close his eyes. He heard dimly through approaching sleep- spurned by injury and exhaustion- as Andrew took the ice and held it to Sam's head. Holding the too cold towel against his own swelling face, Dean watched Andrew flick off the lights.

After a stiff and uneasy night Dean's eyes popped open at a quarter after nine in the morning. They focused on Sam, as he shifted forcefully in the bed- caught in the grips of a nightmare. Dean's back flamed painfully as tried to stand; his numb legs only half responding. After tripping over Andrew's body, snaked along the floor, asleep, he staggered to Sam's side he shook the younger man's shoulder. "Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty, your prince is leaving."

After a trembling shout of, "No," Sam's eyes snapped open. The young man shook himself, and locked slightly panicked eyes with Dean. "Dean!" In Dean's eyes he saw everything that they'd done to each other and witnessed. Pure remorse and shame echoed in the eyes of Sam. He looked away, unable to face the pain he knew he'd been forced to inflict on his brother.

Dean felt himself start to quiver as every blow they exchanged, every cruel word that Sam'd uttered- the demon uttered-replayed in his mind, but remaining unsaid between them. Dean stood up as rapidly as his body would allow, trying to hide his limp as he ventured into the bathroom. "I'm gonna get you some water," he said ignoring Sam's faint 'I'm fine.'

Andrew entered in behind him, looking at Dean guiltily, "I didn't mean to fall asleep, my mom, she's probably expecting me, well minus nine hour's ago." The kid gritted his teeth, "You two will be alright?" Dean nodded appreciatively, and the kid muttered a quick thanks and good bye, and went outside into the hall.

In the bathroom alone Dean dropped heavily to the edge of the tub. Staring down at his shaking hands, he slammed the door. Breathing heavily, he quickly stood and splashed water on his face. _Get a grip, Dean. You did what you had to, that wasn't Sam you were fighting. It was a demon. _The words reverberated like a mantra through his skull. He could not summon the courage to walk back out there and face his brother. It may have been a demon he was fighting, but it was Sam that had taken the blows.

He rubbed his cold hands together and poured the glass of water that had been his excuse to come in here and collect himself- to repress everything.

Striding out with makeshift confidence, he turned into the main part of the room to see Sam sitting on the bed, with his back to Dean. All words died on Dean's tongue as he went to sit beside him. Sam didn't acknowledge him. Dean sat hesitantly still, not wanting to break the thought trail he could scarcely read behind Sam's half-lidded brown eyes. He could see the deep and forceful breath thrum out of his brother, and back in again. Sam swallowed, and Dean noticed the grimace. Opening his mouth, Sam spoke to the floor. "I tried to kill you."

The total culpability of the statement pulled at Dean's heart, and settled into his mind as he allowed a quick, "Are you serious?" slip from his mouth.

Sam whipped his head around locking haunted eyes with his brother's. "I tried to kill you, Dean. I think that I almost did… I could have. I don't know why she didn't. I felt her anger…" he trailed off and blinked. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Hey you fought _that_ _thing_ tooth and nail, Sam," Dean said, glancing down. "That takes some strength."

Sam looked away and shuddered. His voice barely above a whisper, Sam said flatly, "it wasn't a demon." Dean looked back to him incredulously. "That was the most powerful ghost I have ever met. I felt her heart, her mind, she's lonely. She's angry."

"Sam, you don't have to apologize to me for that bitch. It wasn't your fault." He gingerly touched the bruises on his face and sat a little straighter. "These are nothing you did. This isn't your fault. But the things I did… to stop you, to keep her from walking out that door with you… I knew you were in there somewhere, you could feel pain, and I punched just as hard hoping it would get through to her. I could not let you walk out that door and start a massacre."

Swallowing hard Sam looked away. "I don't blame you. You did what you had to do. You not stopping her from leaving is what she wanted. She wanted people to join her, to feel her pain, to be as alone as she is in the grips of the ghostly plain and forsake of whatever afterlife awaited them. I saw her mind. I saw what a tormented and twisted spectre she's become." Standing gingerly, Sam winced in pain and rubbed his jaw as he spoke, "I actually felt sympathy for her."

Sam turned and looked down at his brother who sat with one hand wrapped behind him, knuckling his back spasm. "But the deed done to her doesn't excuse the atrocities that she committed."

Pulling himself up, Dean faced his younger brother, "I won't say it again. I'm sorry."

Flinching Sam took a long look at the guilt-ridden face of his brother, "I know you are. I do." There was a quiet beat, "You do realize that you instigated a chick flick moment, don't you?"

Dean let himself be pulled by that diversion of topic and smiled. "Yeah, I did…so do you feel like painting each others toenails, now? Hot pink, maybe?"

Sam stopped dead and whipped around to face his brother. "If you allude to that vampire incident one more time I will hang you out to dry with a sign that says 'bight me' and a hot pink bulls eye tattooed to your neck."

"Now, now no need to get sensitive about it." Dean shot at him with a practiced smirk plastered across his face. "What exactly did that vampiress do to you anyway?"

"Nothing you need to know about," The conditioned response had Dean grinning.

Sam rolled his eyes and took a swallow from the glass of water. The effort Sam put into swallowing and closing his mouth visibly tore at Dean. Catching Dean's look of empathy deflated Sam.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Sam knew that Dean would. He knew that Dean saw it all as his fault, but Sam _knew_ better. He knew that this could be avoided again if he could just find a way to break the dreams to Dean. Find someway to explain to Dean what he saw. Last night they had expanded, the rage of the spirit had imprinted more of the future into Sam's nightmare. In five days it was going to happen again.

Dean broke the silence, "So you saw into her head?" He waited for an affirmative response, before he continued, "would she happen to know where she was entombed, buried, anything?"

Sam marvelled at the focus that suddenly erupted out of their blatant humour. "France."

Dean's pure expression of horror would've had Sam laughing if his head would have taken it. "I think we need to find another way of banishing her."

"Ya think?"

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_So what did you guys think, ie, really want to hear from you._

_Really, really want to hear from you. It's pathetic. I have security issues._

_So will our boys go to France, will Sam confess, will Dean realize what he was not evil, all these questions and more answered in the next episode of Grief's Possession._

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**_Reviewer Responses:_**

_Gator-Girl: Thanks for the review, I tried to update soon, really I did!_

_Kits: Thanks for the detailed review, and that some one aprieciates the effort I put in to try and stay as close to the creators vision for the characters. And I, this is kinda sad, just figured out which 'its' or 'it's' to use._

_Sensue: Thanks!_

_Twisted Flame: I hope I satiated you appetite. And I glad you like this, and took the time to put a detailed review._

_Sarah: Thanks for the compliment and I will_

_Cyberchick2007: I luv giving out cliffies. Thanks for the review._

_Nate and Jake: Thanks a lot for the review, and I have a compulsion to beat up on hot male characters. So, yah, love angst._

_Dreema Azaleia Wingblade: Hope you like this when you get back. I'm glad someone gets annoyed with my cliffy, it make me feel good._

_Flutterbybutterfly: I can't resist causing mental/physical pain to my favourite guys like Sam, far too much fun._

_Dark Fires: Thanks for the review and the sympathy. See latah!_

_Charli: Thanks for your expressive appreciation. I glad you enjoy this, I might as well make longer chapters, if it take me this long to update, thanks for your support. And I agree, I am not a fan of incest, at all._

_Nerissa: I am glad that you like this fic so much. Hope to see such positive reviews again._

_LostAngel2: Heh heh, heh. Can't be nice, I know I'm doing a good job when I get a "poor Sam" or something like that._

_Tanya: Wow! Thanks, I happy that you love this story that much._

_Violet Eternity: I glad that you enjoy reading this so much. I'm glad you notice the little things I do to try and make it more 'realistic'._

_Ghostwriter: Here it is, hope you liked. I need to think of my own catch phrase, I like what you have going._

_Jessica: I probably killed you with the long update time, but it's a lengthy chapter, so it sorta balances out, right?_

_Sweet as Punch: Thanks a lot for the story, and its fun trying to write the brothers, it kinda like the things I do to my sister, expect we're both female._

_Dyrne-Faemne: I didn't talk a lot about the knife, but you'll see in the coming chapter. And no, it wasn't exactly saving Dean did, it's kinda a perspective thing. But for the coming chapters, you'll see._

_Stony Angel: I'm glad that you love this fic, so much. I gotta love cliffies too, though I ended this own nice._

_Windyfontaine: I'm glad you reviewed, (and the cyber soup was good)._

_Moonfairyhime: Thanks for the review; writing is really an art, usually unnoticed by most people. I try and do my best._

_Chaigirl: I am glad you reviewed, and Dean really didn't get him out of it, not really. I like to evolve the characters to be independent. I like to think of them as being able to fix messes they created. You'll see._

_LittleWing: You are an asset to this story, I really don't think I could do as good of a job filtering and make this flow without your suggestions and ideas. I'll email you later, with more praise/ideas later. Gotta update._

**_More Reviews, MORE MORE MORE!_**


	5. Looking Through All's Thoughts

_I hope there are still people who aren't so fed up with my updates who still want to read the fic… I hope those that do tune in like this, my very thorough and wonderful beta, Little Wing, and I spent a lot of time on it. _

_I'll quit blabbering until the end, so here you guys go:_

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**Grief's Possession**

**Chapter Five: Looking Through All's Thoughts**

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Locked in a staring competition with his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sam struggled to find solace in his thoughts. Leaning heavily against the faux marble sink Sam continued with the one-sided staring competition; all the while ignoring the droning sound of the water still pouring from the faucet. Trying bleakly to stave off his active mind, and seek a peace of sorts, Sam concentrated almost fully on his eyes in the mirror. A wisp of his thoughts stretched away, and it jerked him back to the look in Dean's eyes when he apologized, sincerely begged forgiveness mere hours earlier. His brother's hazel eyes, would have looked red-rimmed had not Sam known better. Sam's mind blocked his mind from further retreating back, deeper in earlier memories. Dimly Sam knew his own psyche's mechanism, for dealing with harsh situations, was acting to preserve his sanity, at least for now.

Sam reached his free hand up to probe the deep contusions that colored his face a dark purple, after bracing a hand on the counter top. Hissing slightly at the pain his own touch caused, he cursed the situation. He almost couldn't tell but the swollen bruises seemed to be down a bit. Continuing to stare at his newly odd reflection, Sam noted how between the bruises and swelling there was a new symmetry- if not an odd one- to his face. Suppressing a strong urge to yawn he reached into the cooling water as it flowed from the tap and filled his cupped hand. Sam lazily splashed the liquid on his face he quelled the need for sleep- he'd done enough of that in the day since the possession. One of his hands braced on the counter reached up and probed the deep contusions that dominated his visage. The swelling contrasted against his lean wearying expression. Sam suppressed the welling urge to yawn and sleep, he had done enough of that lately, and it brought nothing but pain.

Every time Sam closed the heavy lids of his eyes, he saw her. Her face convoluted the innocent purity of Jess's face. Her ghastly grim image over shadowed anything Sam remembered about his loving girlfriend. Her sweet memory was being permanently marred by the angry specter's hopeless culling of lonely hearts. To Sam's memory every pure moment with he, was gone, replaced by a hollow shape of what their love had been. Not even his origin nightmares, his uncorrected prophecy of her death, rivaled these in horrifying him.

Allowing a deep sigh to escape his tender throat, Sam stubbornly wiped at the tears that had begun to seep from his eyes. Gritting his teeth in frustration over the events of the last few hours, Sam quickly wished he hadn't as a wave of pain washed through him. The needles of tightened muscled ripped through his jaw, and down the sides of his face to his bent neck. Growling in anger at himself for causing the wash of pain, he shut his eyes and hoped that Dean hadn't heard him. Dean wouldn't have heard with his attention to rapt, he was too busy wasting money, watching some near NC-17 rated movie.

A sudden harsh knock to the wood grain door jarred Sam from his reverie of self-loathing and exhaustion. Shutting off the faucet to the sink threatening to over flow, he listened as a ragged breath was drawn and a quiet question was asked, "Hey, Sam, you gonna take that shower? 'Cause, I'd really like to get in there sometime this century." After Dean's first sentence of suspicious concern, came the brother Sam had grown to ignore.

Sam would have had some sort of retort, with a long confusing word in it, ready on any other day. He just didn't have the heart for the banter, not after hearing the concern transcending its way through Dean's normally nonchalant tone. "Sam, hurry your ass up! I've met chicks that have taken less time than you, and sure looked a whole lot prettier when they were done."

_Ah the sympathy…_Sam knew well that if Dean thought he was showing any sort of residual sympathy or unwarranted kindness- his stronghold of repressed and 'weak emotions' would turn him into a frail hunter- an easier target. He knew and never expected his brother to be anything other than the unfazed rock who had thrown away his innocence to become what he had to become.

Sam, too numb to do anything but comply with his brother's request, answered by turning the shower on to full heat. Stepping out of his disheveled clothes, he kicked them into the corner behind the door, leaving them as a new started pile as place to pick up the laundry later. The heat from the water felt good on the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders, as he stood beneath the showerhead. Getting under the water he stood with his face into the showerhead, letting the needles of hot water bounce off his tight neck and shoulder. And from those few seconds of tranquility, Sam found he could not clear his cluttered and wandering mind of the mess of unpleasant thoughts that it'd become, and found the meditative state he'd longed for refused to allow him entry. The spirit's violent intrusion upon his mind and body overpowered all his attempts at finding any short-lived moments of tranquility.

It was the grim memory of the previous day, of how she had slid into his body, wearing him like a broken in boxing glove. Sam found that thinking back now, safe for this small-allotted time, he remembered of how he had barely been able to push back her thrall, hardly been able to keep her from fully accessing his entire soul.

As the drops of water pelted his skin, the memory of her invasion at the Lewison house seized his mind. He physically remembered the pain that was brought by her entity throwing herself against his controlled barriers. After his recitation of the summoning incantation, her prowess threw herself onto him; she had not immediately grappled with him for control. Of the last few nights, her haunting of his dreams, she knew of the power that Jess's nightmare had over him. Her image had distorted to that of his loving girlfriend's. The façade set in his mind showed him, a night they had once experienced, the first time that she had come home with him.

_With a deep sigh, Sam closed the book in front of him as he scribbled a quick note about what he'd just read on the nearly covered page. He hated finals, but at the same time he loved the challenge that they presented. The challenge of studying all night and taking the exam with less than four hours sleep only to score an A on it. Soft hands gently massaging his tense shoulders sent a quick shiver down his spine, stopping him mid-reach for the next book in the large pile that sat stacked before him. Her soft sweet scent cascaded over him as he melted into her warm hands as they gently kneaded his shoulders. With a soft groan he allowed his head to slump to his chest. As soon as they were there her hands were gone, and he felt a soft kiss being placed a top his head. _

"_Brought you something," her voice said in a whisper._

"_You didn't have to," he said as she set a plain brown bag down on the table._

"_Thought you could use some study snacks. You know, keep the brain going." She smiled and grabbed the chair next to his. _

"_Thanks." He returned her smile and quickly opened the bag, praying that it wasn't making enough noise to be noticed. Carefully he opened the bag to find a hearty sandwich, a bag of chips and a liter of coke. Taking a quick bite of the long overdue meal, Sam pulled the next book down and began to skim through it and fill up what little room was left on the page. _

_Finishing the sandwich, he heard a soft thud on the floor by the table. Turning his head quickly he saw Jessica sitting cross-legged on the floor with her full attention on the worn paperback in her hands. He smiled and turned back to his studies._

_Quietly he turned the page in his notebook and stole another glance at the beauty on the floor devouring the book that she was reading. She was barely halfway through the thick book, and was currently laying stomach down on the hard floor. Her head was down, cascading blond locks over her shoulders, and she had bent her legs at the knees- waving her feet carelessly through the silent air. He couldn't help but smile. With force he once again turned his attention to the book sitting before him. _

_The soft turning of pages tore his attention, once again, from the book before. It'd been almost thirty minutes since he'd started reading and he had yet to turn the page! She was perfect. The way that she loved him was perfect. Innocent. Closing the book that he wasn't reading, Sam packed up his things and then helped Jessica from the floor. Quickly they headed for the front doors of the library._

_Somewhere in the distance, Sam thought he heard someone call to him. Taking a quick look around he saw no one. Shaking off the odd thought that he knew the voice and that the wonderful memory of the first night that he and Jessica had gone back to his place. Hand in hand they started down the stairs for the first floor when a sudden pain shot through the lower half of his leg. _

A howl of anger escaped his tightly pressed lips as he watched Jessica's face change into the hate filled face of the spirit. One that day, he knew how he had been betrayed, how the feel of her hands should have been could, how her mannerisms should have been wrong, how the sound of her voice should have been hoarse. But it wasn't. He would have never realized through his blind need for her, that it was _wrong _until after he fell, and he felt the radiating amusement and spitefulness waft from her being.

Sam felt how right she had seemed, how well crafted her traitorous mirage had been. Everything that had set Jess apart from his ill-fated relationships and the very occasional one-night stands had been present. The comfort and love, the security and safety, the normality and innocence, had guided through him. And he saw then that it was his failing. The trap of grief and love for Her had nearly made him number thirteen.

Another growl escaped Sam's lips as he felt strong arms envelope him, yanking him from the smiling face of the Jessica thing before him. Anger hadn't run hotter though him since the night that she'd died. Who would do such a thing? He was where he belonged. Twisting hard against the arms that held him, he broke the grip. Without looking at his target, Sam let a fist fly; connecting solidly with whomever it was who'd tanked him from the bittersweet memory. In blind rage, Sam hit it again and again and again….until he were just a heap on the floor at his feet.

Sam remembered of how he had looked down, and saw his retracting fist, and Dean's body lying disjointedly on the floor.

A wave of anger, strong and pure, had rippled through Sam's fiber's of being, the power slamming up a wall around his mind, forcing the vengeful spirit from his body. He had found a grip of control of himself, after shaking off the pain she had brought, and compelled speech to thrum out from unfamiliar vocal cords. As he had tried to maintain domination of his body, Sam felt control slipping away and to the blinding blackness he succumbed. The pure agony of thousands of stilettos of rage and isolation stabbed into his body and twisted hard, holding him spellbound as the spirit seemed squeeze him hard around the core of his very soul. From some where within his well-informed intellect a small piece of information forced its way into Sam's mind. _This is what it feels like to die in an Iron Maiden,_ he thought as his last ounce of mental strength left his already exhausted body. With a pain filled yell, Sam relinquished his last bit control he left to her.

Relegated to the very edge of his own mind Sam seethed at her. He sent waves of rage and fury towards her, as he felt Dean grab him in a weak arm lock- an old kid-wrestling move that tried to force Sam to his knees. It was poorly executed at that, and he knew that Dean misjudged his weight distribution. Grudgingly Sam'd had just aided her. Quickly the woman in his head snatched the thought away from him, and tore through his breaking mind to find the countermove. Sam never saw his brother rip through the air, but he heard and felt the impact; it tore at his soul. The large crash followed by a deafening crack made Sam waver. A sly thought broke out of her mind, "Another with me?" That thought, the excited, the pleased image horrified Sam, more than anything he could dare to imagine. The notion that another death, placated the spirit in full control his body made Sam retch. And that it could have been Dean. Only a fleeting glance backwards revealed Dean shifting sideways on the floor squirming, had edged down Sam's horror. The way Dean had rocked, racked with pain, against the cedar desk, showed how badly he had been hit. _Dean! Come on man, get up. Damn you, get up, need some help here. _

His snarling mind broke through to the spirit, and she turned decisively away from the young man hovering bleakly among the realms of consciousness. Sam would have been wringing his hands, waving dramatically, and anything to get his brother to help him. _Damn you, Dean, get your stubborn ass off the damn floor. _The intense desire signaled the spiteful spirit. Sam felt his body crouch down, and commanded by the spirit lift Dean off the floor. Drawing as arm back, she had prepared a crushing blow for Dean. Panic gripped Sam as he quickly channeled all his anger, and all his love for his brother in an attempt to pull back his own flying fist. Anger flooded Sam's mind as the spirit realized what he'd done. Turning her anger and mental abilities inward, she snatched his fist out from under Dean's sternum. Dean could have died by Sam's hands.

Through clouded ears Sam could hear Dean swearing at him. As Sam tried to ward off the spirit's intense blows, she shot painful memories to the surface of his quickly tiring mind. He could feel the strong grip of 'Dean's' hand choke off the blood and air to his brain. Sam still saw the white irises stare down at him in a maniacal determination. He felt his hands slap at the smooth leather, and his fingers get wound up in the medallion Dean wore religiously around his neck. He saw another reflection in the mirror looking through bleeding eyes, of him, callously berating him, for not acting on his foreknowledge and saving the only woman he ever knew, that had deeply loved him. The fire's heated that licked down his face, as his deep eyes welled open with shock as he stared into the horrified face of his lover, dead, bleeding onto his body and their sheets. They had faded away with Sam's determination, into one last confusing remembrance. He was running to a man dressed strangely, a deep red crested tunic hung to his knees, and stripped hose ended in short boots. Sam felt like he fell to his knees, and had remembered begging the man for small drop, of what was considered high treason to possess. The confounding image waned off.

Battling his own demons, Sam had felt her attempt to merge her personality with his own. Sam had tried to force himself to break away from her, she spiraled him down again. Sam had stood bodily in his mind. Around him shifted, he saw a shadow of himself standing, wavering at Jessica's grave, for the first time since the funeral. He had saw himself drop to be kneeling beside where she would always rest- the dirt mound not yet covered with grass- for the first time since her funeral. As a tear began to form behind his eyes, the image suddenly twisted and knew he was shown something else. Sam was standing before the grave of another. The name on the freshly carved stone was a man's, echoed out at him, though he didn't recognize it. A cool night breeze blanketed him as a sorrowed sob pulled his attention from the stone to the woman at the grave. He noticed with a certain amount of recognition, a red haired woman kneeling on the freshly dug soil, battering her fists against the newly cut headstone.

Shaking off her cognizance he came to, to find himself looking up at his brother through her twisted interpretation of his eyes. He noticed himself straitening and then ambling forward, to find himself moving quickly towards his brother's face. The intentions broadcasted from the parasite that leeched his body all but good. He saw the troubling conclusion flash through Dean's seamless poker face and he knew what his brother was going to- had to- do. In a quick ambush, he kept himself from presenting a guard. The spirit roared past him, too late. As Dean's fists crashed into the pressure points in his face, Sam suddenly felt all the pain he had been hiding. Trapped within his mind, Sam screamed until there was nothing left but exhaustion. He was sure that had his scream been an actual vocal sound it would have alerted the entire block, having 911 calls from all the Lewison's neighbors flood the system.

Lost in an endless wave of torment, Sam could not prepare for her latest attack. As Sam's mind hovered on the edge of blackness, he could feel her. He could feel that she, his mighty puppeteer, was open to him, and an invasion of his own. She who would have puppeteer his body was opened to him, to his own invasion. Her light attracted him, a lonely wolf baying unanswered up to the moon, and seeing no other path back to his own took to her mind. The timeless hours of being a ghostlike presence, watching her knife slip into her own chest, hearing her own love slain by her king for false accusations of insurrection, all of her memories rewound before Sam's mind eye.

A bitter shock pushed at him unexpectedly, and he knew he had been suddenly alone, very alone, in his body. And through that shock he felt an airtight compression closed around his neck. The surprised question of "Dean," never made past his cold lips.

Sam's hand came up to where a day earlier, Dean, had rightfully strangled his only brother. The sobering thought brought him from the tasking flashback of what he had know of the terrible battle of wills that had nearly killed his brother, Dean.

Shivering against the water that'd run so long that it needed to reheat in their area's tank, Sam twisted off the taps. Shaking off the memory of one of the most unsettling nights of his life, he stepped gingerly over the edge of the tub and grabbed the single remaining towel. Drying off, emptily, he unlocked the bathroom door and went to find something cleaner to wear. His entrance in the bathroom, and decision to get wet, was more of a plan to give himself and his brother some space to figure things out.

Dean sat shirtless with his shoulder's slumped on the edge of the bed watching the channel eleven news. The haggard expression and bruised face rebelled from the normal lively and healthy look Sam was accustomed to seeing on his brother. With a twinge of regret and guilt Sam noticed the deep purple bruising on Dean's lower back, just under the ribs centered by his spine. The unnatural pale tone to the center of it showed the bleeding still ran deep. Funny green and blues ran through to the black edges. The muscle tones looked thinner and limper to what he knew his brother had. Sam looked away when Dean stood up, his hazel eyes barely covering the throbbing twinge pain the act caused.

"'Bout damn time you came of there. I thought you'd turned into a water wraith and slipped down the drain never to be heard from again." Dean looked his brother up and down, and made a thumb jerk over to the pile of duffel bags. "Put some clothes on Lady Godiva." With that last thought Dean pushed past his brother and entered the bathroom, slamming shut the door. Through the thin walls Sam was sure that everyone within a twenty-yard radius heard Dean's proclaim as he stepped into the shower, "God it feels good to be clean!" Then as he let the water warm up to where Sam had the shower temp originally, "shit! It burns."

Pulling on a pair of boxers, sweat pants, and a hoodie- one of Dean's as a last resort- Sam took a quick look in the mirror to ensure that in his hurry to get going and get clean clothes he was wearing every thing the right way out. Taking a second look in the mirror, he noticed that the lettering on the sweater was in the guise of an optometrist's eye chart that said, "If you can read this, you are standing to close."

It was a hell of a lot better than Dean's last fairly clean shirt, that Sam was nearly positive was a left over from one of Dean's more recent booty calls, which read "Porn Star" with the playboy bunny underneath. Judging by the low cut neckline and the long distance phone number written just inside the front neck hem- upside down and in Dean's hand, like he wrote it when someone was still in it- Sam was more than sure that he was right.

Throwing all the clothes he could find, including the ones in the bathroom, into a black garbage bag he left Dean butchering the already massacred AC/DC song "Back in Black" in the shower. Making sure he had one of the keycards Sam trudged off to one of the elevators with a ten-dollar bill in hand to exchange at the front desk for enough change to use the washing machines. Walking up to the front desk, he plastered a smile on his face shallow enough to make Paris Hilton look sincere, and stepped in line to wait patiently until he could get to the front.

For the second time, in two days, Sam realized how much he detested waiting in lines. Eyes of all ages seemed to be watching him. It didn't make him self-conscious, it was however an annoyance. Sam knew the separation of being labeled a freak well; of being marked as different in all those normal eyes. The tight smile was making his jaw throb, so he relaxed his face, and noticed some wide eyes. Casting a quick glance at the security screen he noticed how much like a murderous zombie he looked, the thought made him want to laugh.

Changing the entire bill into quarters he traipsed through the small lobby toward the stairs. Unnaturally tired by the end of his trip up the three flights of stairs, he took the hotel desk clerk's directions. After one wrong turn into the main supply room and some liberated packages of hotel-sized toiletries, Sam found the spacious laundry room. Six women stood apart going about their various jobs, and two teenagers looked up from their magazines giving him a one-over. The pair's sudden teenage attraction, not dampened by the marks of the fight still visible on Sam's face, had the pair giggling. Sam started sorting the clothes, and pretended not to notice the horror-struck reprimand the pair received from whom he assumed was their mother.

Throwing the darks into one washer and most of the lights into another, he looked through the assortment of items he'd liberated from pants before washing. Three fake ids, about eighty dollars in unmarked bills, five silver bullets, a stiletto, and Dean's wallet fully loaded with the last case's plain old boring police badge and strangely enough real car keys. Hastily stashing all the personal items before one or more of his fellow maids saw the interesting nature of the objects, he tried find a place to sit for the half an hour he had to wait before the cloths were done.

Moving a low footstool against the wall, Sam sat bored for an hour long five minutes twiddling his thumbs. Spending too long of a time in Dean's Impala was getting to him. Deciding that his only options, other than borrowing a copy of Teen People from his growing fan club, were to be bored or take a nap, Sam glanced around the room-pretty sure he was not going to be mugged- and let his head drop to his chest.

For once dropping into sleep took no effort. His mind slid easily into the dream, ignoring his attempts at pushing it away. _He lay reclined on the somewhat comfortable bed in a small room the white walls reflecting the near noon sun in a bright brilliance. His melancholy eyes had long studied then forgotten the small wood border than ran all the way around the room. A white curtain hung from the ceiling secluding him from two other patients. This he knew, and he also knew where he was; a hospital. He looked down at foreign hands that oddly felt right. In their unyielding grip they held the knife. The polished blade faced inwards. Sam could see something else too. She hovered above him, sliding the knife inwards. Her low and cursing voice cut through their own thoughts of terror. Her monotone repeated, "_For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night, Depart again: here, here will we remain._" Through his scream, as the knife bit through his flesh, he heard another person's soul pattern his voice. Together they cried, "No, I can't!"_

Jerking awake, Sam straightened in his seat too fast and looked up into a few concerned faces of the now fourteen people in the laundry room. Two would be Good Samaritans backed away from him their eyes searching, but his quickly erected poker face stopped them from asking questions. Trying desperately not seem embarrassed, he could only imagine what he was screaming only seconds before. He knew he had yelled something, his jaw hurt and his throat was dry. Shaking off their inquisitive glances, he shoved the clothes into a jumbo dryer.

After starting the load, Sam headed for a phone. Finding one he just stood there staring at it, trying to summon the courage to dial his room number. _Someone just died_, he thought; he was sure. Sam tried to remember if it was the same knife Dean had found with him that was used to murder the patient. Through an already foggy recollection of the dream, all he knew for sure was the terror and grief whomever was just slaughtered had felt. His hand dropped down. Dean would insist that they immediately go check this all out, and that would get them into trouble. They'd both handled the knife, their fingerprints would be on it; instantaneously shoving them to the top of the prime suspect list. Sam stiffened, how would they explain to the nice officers why one of the U.S.'s currently dead serial killers was still alive and kicking in their country?

Sam shook his head Dean would probably, on the spot, fabricate some cock and bull story that played him out as gallant hero, and Sam the lowly dim-witted squire. Sam backtracked even further. How would he explain to Dean his dreams, and not touch on Jess. Sam had no desire to hear more accusations of betrayal and hurt flow out of Dean's mouth. Sam could still clearly remember the look Dean had given him when he refused to tell Dean why Mary Worthington's spirit would have come after him.

Sam remained by the phone for ten minutes before some arrogant suit pushed past him to grab the receiver. Sam's half-raised hand dropped back down to his side, and he pursed his lips. Dean definitely would have pushed the self-righteous jerk out of his ivory tower and then stolen his wallet. But Sam took it as divine intervention and made his way back to the half dry clothes for something to do.

Forty minutes later after the last load was done and folded, though Sam knew full well that within three minutes of being in Dean's possession they would look like they had been through a tropical storm, eaten by wolves, then thrown up over the edge of cliff, he left the laundry room. Hefting the heavy bag he hoped that the small knife in the bottom of it wouldn't rip a hole. Walking over to where a sign proclaimed the elevators were, he eventually made it to his room door. Spending nearly two minutes trying to get the card to work, he discovered it was an old one from a Best Western nearly four hundred miles to the south.

Banging on the door viciously, Sam shouted, "Dean let me in! I've got to tell you something," when it remained unanswered for what felt like an hour.

Dean opened it part way, and poked his head out. "Dude, you didn't leave me anything to wear! Not even a towel! I know that I harassed sometimes you as a child, hell still do, but leaving me to become a nudist for two hours, is not funny." Sam gestured down to the black garbage bag, and opened it revealing the apparently much needed treasures. "Good, catch the door before it shuts, and don't come in 'til I make it to the bathroom."

Sam bit back a smirk, "Are we not very confidant of our manhood?"

Dean glowered at him, "For your information… shut up… It's a long story I don't feel like telling the entire hotel."

Kicking the door open further with his foot, Sam stifled a laugh as Dean took off into towards bathroom. "Performance anxiety," he muttered after the retreating form. Sam grabbed the shut door with his free hand and cringed as he saw Dean's entire back profile bolt into the bathroom.

"I heard that, Sam. Just get me some damn clothes." Sam obliged as slowly as he could; lofting a pair of jeans, and other essentials at his brother's emerged head. When down, the younger Winchester pulled up his duffel bag and began to stow away his share of the clothes. The TV was still on. As the news report began, Sam noticed nothing unusual and tuned it out. Dean emerged a few minutes later, buttoning up his shirt, "ah, to smell like outside fresh dryer sheets… This truly is heaven."

"So why are we so worried that someone might see a full moon, all of a sudden?" Sam smirked at Dean's embarrassed expression.

"Well I kinda fell asleep on the bed with only a sheet after you took forever with the laundry. And this maid knocked on the door. I was _really _conked out… so I… uh didn't wake up. She kind of came in and left the door wide open. And proceeded to scared the hell out of me. Suffice to say the sheet got dropped and this gaggle of teenagers, all of them female, walked past. And I've been getting people banging at the door asking why I 'desensitized' their children, on and off for the past half an hour." Dean swallowed and gauged Sam's mood, "Well when none of the girls screamed, and a few whistled I knew I still had it."

"Dean, were they even sixteen?" Sam shuddered, and somehow trampled the breaking smirk. Realizing that he had begun packing Dean's things in his bag as well, he dumped everything out, to start over.

Dean's eyes suddenly widened, before narrowing in an accusatory glare at Sam. Quickly moving to where his baby brother was packing his bag, Dean grabbed the bag and began to search through it like a crazed man. "What they hell are you doing Dean?" Sam, nearly shouted as he stepped back to get out of Dean's way.

"Where is it! I didn't touch it! Where'd you put the damn thing!" Dean shot him a glare, and cursed, "Shit! She get through to you again! Where is it!"

"Dean, calm down and I'll tell you once you explain what the hell you are looking for." Sam could not understand what Dean was talking about.

Just then a breaking news story sounded loudly on the television. "Preliminary reports coming from City Hospital state that at approximately 11:49 this morning, an elderly patient was found to have committed suicide. But a source with the police has cast some doubt upon that theory. As it seems that a long knife was used, drawing a connection to Karen Lewison who was found dead in a similar manner earlier this month. Until they know more the police refuse to confirm that either death involved any fowl play. Next in sports, the final score of the game between the Red Wings and Leafs."

Sam turned back to the shocked face of Dean. "Remember when I said before I had something to tell you," Sam got an instinctual nod, "That was it."

Dean turned to Sam dropping the bag. "How'd you know that? That was the first newscast I've heard about it, and I'm not seeing word of mouth somehow spreading to your ears that fast!" Sam drew back from his brother's anger and tried to force the words out. His bruised jaw coincidently stiffened up, "I dreamt it… again."

Dean looked at Sam, long and hard, before dropping his gaze to the floor. "You what! What the hell are you telling me, Sam…what the hell?" Dean bent over and picked something out of the duffel. A still bloody dagger was in his hand. Both men could not suppress the cold sinking shiver that descended down their spines.

* * *

_He he he…_

_So I got into Sam's head a lot, and a few other people's, hence the title. And you got to see what Sam went through with the fight that took place last chapter. I hope you guys got that, when I first sent it off to my beta, she thought it was something else. If you didn't tell me, and I'll try and fix it. _

_And I got to give recognition where it is due, Little Wing did a lot this chapter, adding in a lot of extra's and giving out great idea's for others, you have her to thank for the great scene with Sam and Jessica 'studying'. That was mostly her._

_I hope this chapter didn't fall flat, and regardless, I want to hear from all of you. Reviews are down a little, mostly I suspect, because I posted right in the middle of that massive Fanfic disaster two weeks ago. _

Alright, I'm done rambling,** REVIEW, REVIEW!**

* * *

_REVIEWER RESPONSES:_

Mystiksnake: Thanks a lot, I updated as soon as I could, thanks, I've gotta keep the pressure on.

_Adara-chan15: Wow, thank for your great review. Thanks for appreciating the time it takes to put this out, and I hope you excuse the lateness. I've always loved to watch the two badgering with each other, it is cute. _

_Cyberchick2007: Thanks for your very positive review, I did update as soon as I could, I hope you aren't too exasperated by now. _

_Windyfontaine: Thanks, I try to make longer chapters, since I can't update as quick as I would like. I'm glad you think she's scary, I tried to make her 'bad' but understandable. I'm happy that you like my brand of action, I think of what I would want to see, all the drama, and angst, and then I try to put it into coherent words. Sometimes its better than others. Thanks _

_SomeoneElsesDream: Thanks a lot, very sweet review._

_Ghostwriter: A little late I know, but I'm hoping it good, I know it's a pretty dark chapter, I tried to lighten it up at the almost end._

_Dark Fires: Thanks, thanks, a lot, this one is nice and long too! _

_Stony Angel: I'm glad you took the time to review! Thanks a lot, don't worry, the "The End" isn't here quiet yet. Twisted Flame, after I thought about and looked him up, I did recognize him, he has some great Charmed fics._

_Nate and Jake: I'm glad this fic makes you happy, I tried to update as soon as I could, life just keeps getting in the way, that and I've a triple workload until the end of December. _

_Aciel: OMG, thanks a lot! I'm glad you are so enthusiastic about this fic. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you. _

Moonfairyhime: Thanks, always love such kind reviews.

_Prinzessin: Thanks a lot, hope to see your reviews again!_

_Violet Eternity: Thanks a lot! And I love my Fight scene too! And I did have that idea before I saw Skin, I swear! _


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